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BEFORETHE CURTAIN

As themanager of the Performance sits before the curtainon theboards and looks into the Faira feeling of profoundmelancholycomes over him in his survey of the bustling place.There is agreat quantity of eating and drinkingmaking loveandjiltinglaughing and the contrarysmokingcheatingfightingdancing and fiddling; there are bullies pushing aboutbucksogling the womenknaves picking pocketspolicemenon thelook-outquacks (OTHER quacksplague take them!)bawling infront of their boothsand yokels looking up atthetinselled dancers and poor old rouged tumblerswhile thelight-fingeredfolk are operating upon their pockets behind.Yesthisis VANITY FAIR; not a moral place certainly; nor amerry onethough very noisy.  Look at the faces of the actorsandbuffoons when they come off from their business; andTom Foolwashing the paint off his cheeks before he sits downto dinnerwith his wife and the little Jack Puddings behindthecanvas.   The curtain will be up presentlyand he will beturningover head and heelsand crying"How are you?"

A man witha reflective turn of mindwalking through anexhibitionof this sortwill not be oppressedI take itby hisown orother people's hilarity.   An episode of humour or kindnesstouchesand amuses him here and there--a pretty childlooking ata gingerbread stall; a pretty girl blushing whilst herlovertalks to her and chooses her fairing; poor Tom Foolyonderbehind the waggonmumbling his bone with the honestfamilywhich lives by his tumbling; but the general impressionis onemore melancholy than mirthful.  When you come homeyou sitdown in a sobercontemplativenot uncharitable frameof mindand apply yourself to your books or your business.

I have noother moral than this to tag to the present storyof "VanityFair." Some people consider Fairs immoral altogetherand eschewsuchwith their servants and families: verylikelythey are right.  But persons who think otherwiseand areof a lazyor a benevolentor a sarcastic moodmay perhapslike tostep in for half an hourand look at the performances.There arescenes of all sorts; some dreadful combatssomegrand andlofty horse-ridingsome scenes of high lifeandsome ofvery middling indeed; some love-making for thesentimentaland some light comic business; the wholeaccompaniedby appropriate scenery and brilliantly illuminatedwith theAuthor's own candles.

What morehas the Manager of the Performance to say?--Toacknowledge the kindness with which it has been receivedin all theprincipal towns of England through which the Showhaspassedand where it has been most favourably noticed bytherespected conductors of the public Pressand by the NobilityandGentry.  He is proud to think that his Puppets have givensatisfactionto the very best company in this empire.  Thefamouslittle Becky Puppet has been pronounced to be uncommonlyflexiblein the jointsand lively on the wire; the AmeliaDollthough it has had a smaller circle of admirershas yetbeencarved and dressed with the greatest care by the artist; theDobbinFigurethough apparently clumsyyet dances in a veryamusingand natural manner; the Little Boys' Dance has beenliked bysome; and please to remark the richly dressed figureof theWicked Noblemanon which no expense has beensparedand which Old Nick will fetch away at the end of thissingularperformance.

And withthisand a profound bow to his patronstheManagerretiresand the curtain rises.

LONDONJune 281848

Chapter IChiswickMall

While thepresent century was in its teensand on onesunshinymorning in Junethere drove up to the greatiron gateof Miss Pinkerton's academy for young ladiesonChiswick Malla large family coachwith two fathorses inblazing harnessdriven by a fat coachman inathree-cornered hat and wigat the rate of four milesan hour. A black servantwho reposed on the box besidethe fatcoachmanuncurled his bandy legs as soon astheequipage drew up opposite Miss Pinkerton's shiningbrassplateand as he pulled the bell at least a score ofyoungheads were seen peering out of the narrow windowsof thestately old brick house.  Naythe acute observer mighthaverecognized the little red nose of good-natured MissJemimaPinkerton herselfrising over some geranium potsin thewindow of that lady's own drawing-room.

"Itis Mrs. Sedley's coachsister" said Miss Jemima."Sambothe black servanthas just rung the bell; andthecoachman has a new red waistcoat."

"Haveyou completed all the necessary preparationsincidentto Miss Sedley's departureMiss Jemima?" askedMissPinkerton herselfthat majestic lady; the SemiramisofHammersmiththe friend of Doctor Johnsonthecorrespondentof Mrs. Chapone herself.

"Thegirls were up at four this morningpacking hertrunkssister" replied Miss Jemima; "we have made herabow-pot."

"Saya bouquetsister Jemima'tis more genteel."

"Wella booky as big almost as a haystack; I have putup twobottles of the gillyflower water for Mrs. Sedleyand thereceipt for making itin Amelia's box."

"AndI trustMiss Jemimayou have made a copy ofMissSedley's account.  This is itis it? Very good--ninety-threepoundsfour shillings.  Be kind enough to address itto JohnSedleyEsquireand to seal this billet which Ihavewritten to his lady."

In MissJemima's eyes an autograph letter of her sisterMissPinkertonwas an object of as deep veneration aswould havebeen a letter from a sovereign.  Only whenher pupilsquitted the establishmentor when they wereabout tobe marriedand oncewhen poor Miss Birchdied ofthe scarlet feverwas Miss Pinkerton known towritepersonally to the parents of her pupils; and it wasJemima'sopinion that if anything could console Mrs.Birch forher daughter's lossit would be that pious andeloquentcomposition in which Miss Pinkerton announcedthe event.

In thepresent instance Miss Pinkerton's "billet" wasto thefollowing effect:--

The MallChiswickJune 1518

MADAM--Afterher six years' residence at the MallIhave thehonour and happiness of presenting Miss AmeliaSedley toher parentsas a young lady not unworthyto occupya fitting position in their polished and refinedcircle. Those virtues which characterize the young English gentlewomanthoseaccomplishments which becomeher birthand stationwill not be found wanting in theamiableMiss Sedleywhose INDUSTRY and OBEDIENCEhaveendeared her to her instructorsand whose delightful sweetness oftemper has charmed her AGED and herYOUTHFULcompanions.

In musicin dancingin orthographyin every varietyofembroidery and needleworkshe will be found tohaverealized her friends' fondest wishes.  In geographythere isstill much to be desired; and a careful andundeviatinguse of the backboardfor four hours dailyduring thenext three yearsis recommended as necessaryto theacquirement of that dignified DEPORTMENT ANDCARRIAGEso requisite for every young lady of fashion.

In theprinciples of religion and moralityMiss Sedleywill befound worthy of an establishment which hasbeenhonoured by the presence of THE GREAT LEXICOGRAPHERand thepatronage of the admirable Mrs. Chapone.  In leavingthe MallMiss Amelia carries with her the hearts of hercompanionsand the affectionate regards of her mistresswho hasthe honour to subscribe herself

MadamYour mostobliged humble servantBARBARAPINKERTON

P.S.--MissSharp accompanies Miss Sedley.  It is particularly requestedthat Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square may notexceed tendays.  The family of distinction with whom she isengageddesire to avail themselves of her services as soon as possible.

Thisletter completedMiss Pinkerton proceeded towrite herown nameand Miss Sedley'sin the fly-leaf ofaJohnson's Dictionary--the interesting work which sheinvariablypresented to her scholarson their departurefrom theMall.  On the cover was inserted a copy of "Linesaddressedto a young lady on quitting Miss Pinkerton'sschoolatthe Mall; by the late revered Doctor SamuelJohnson."In factthe Lexicographer's name was alwayson thelips of this majestic womanand a visit he hadpaid toher was the cause of her reputation and her fortune.

Beingcommanded by her elder sister to get "the Dictionary"from thecupboardMiss Jemima had extracted two copiesof thebook from the receptacle in question.  When MissPinkertonhad finished the inscription in the firstJemimawithrather a dubious and timid airhanded her the second.

"Forwhom is thisMiss Jemima?" said Miss Pinkertonwith awfulcoldness.

"ForBecky Sharp" answered Jemimatrembling verymuchandblushing over her withered face and neckasshe turnedher back on her sister.  "For Becky Sharp:she'sgoing too."

 "MISS JEMIMA!" exclaimed Miss Pinkertonin thelargestcapitals.  "Are you in your senses? Replace theDixonaryin the closetand never venture to take sucha libertyin future."

"Wellsisterit's only two-and-ninepenceand poorBecky willbe miserable if she don't get one."

"SendMiss Sedley instantly to me" said Miss Pinkerton.And soventuring not to say another wordpoorJemimatrotted offexceedingly flurried and nervous.

MissSedley's papa was a merchant in Londonand aman ofsome wealth; whereas Miss Sharp was an articledpupilforwhom Miss Pinkerton had doneas she thoughtquiteenoughwithout conferring upon her at parting thehighhonour of the Dixonary.

Althoughschoolmistresses' letters are to be trusted nomore norless than churchyard epitaphs; yetas it sometimes happens that aperson departs this life who is reallydeservingof all the praises the stone cutter carves overhis bones;who IS a good Christiana good parentchildwifeorhusband; who actually DOES leave a disconsolatefamily tomourn his loss; so in academies of the maleand femalesex it occurs every now and then that thepupil isfully worthy of the praises bestowed by thedisinterestedinstructor.  NowMiss Amelia Sedley was ayoung ladyof this singular species; and deserved not onlyall thatMiss Pinkerton said in her praisebut had manycharmingqualities which that pompous old Minerva of awomancould not seefrom the differences of rank andagebetween her pupil and herself.

For shecould not only sing like a larkor a Mrs.Billingtonand dance like Hillisberg or Parisot; andembroiderbeautifully; and spell as well as a Dixonaryitself;but she had such a kindlysmilingtendergentlegenerousheart of her ownas won the love of everybodywho camenear herfrom Minerva herself down to the poorgirl inthe sculleryand the one-eyed tart-woman'sdaughterwho was permitted to vend her wares once aweek tothe young ladies in the Mall.  She had twelve intimateand bosomfriends out of the twenty-four young ladies.Evenenvious Miss Briggs never spoke ill of her; highand mightyMiss Saltire (Lord Dexter's granddaughter)allowedthat her figure was genteel; and as for MissSwartzthe rich woolly-haired mulatto from St. Kitt'sonthe dayAmelia went awayshe was in such a passion oftears thatthey were obliged to send for Dr. Flossand halftipsifyher with salvolatile.  Miss Pinkerton's attachmentwasasmay be supposed from the high position andeminentvirtues of that ladycalm and dignified; but MissJemima hadalready whimpered several times at the ideaofAmelia's departure; andbut for fear of her sisterwould havegone off in downright hystericslike theheiress(who paid double) of St. Kitt's.  Such luxury ofgriefhoweveris only allowed to parlour-boarders.HonestJemima had all the billsand the washingand themendingand the puddingsand the plate and crockeryand theservants to superintend.  But why speak abouther? It is probable that we shall not hear of her againfrom thismoment to the end of timeand that when thegreatfiligree iron gates are once closed on hershe andher awfulsister will never issue therefrom into this littleworld ofhistory.

But as weare to see a great deal of Ameliathere isno harm insayingat the outset of our acquaintancethatshe was adear little creature; and a great mercy it isboth inlife and in novelswhich (and the latter especially)abound invillains of the most sombre sortthatwe are tohave for a constant companion so guilelessandgood-natured a person.  As she is not a heroinethereis no needto describe her person; indeed I am afraidthat hernose was rather short than otherwiseand hercheeks agreat deal too round and red for a heroine; buther faceblushed with rosy healthand her lips with thefreshestof smilesand she had a pair of eyes whichsparkledwith the brightest and honestest good-humourexceptindeed when they filled with tearsand that wasa greatdeal too often; for the silly thing would cry overa deadcanary-bird; or over a mousethat the cat haplyhad seizedupon; or over the end of a novelwere it everso stupid;and as for saying an unkind word to herwereanypersons hard-hearted enough to do so--whyso muchthe worsefor them.  Even Miss Pinkertonthat austereandgodlike womanceased scolding her after the firsttimeandthough she no more comprehended sensibilitythan shedid Algebragave all masters and teachersparticularorders to treat Miss Sedley with the utmostgentlenessas harsh treatment was injurious to her.

So thatwhen the day of departure camebetween hertwocustoms of laughing and cryingMiss Sedley wasgreatlypuzzled how to act.  She was glad to go homeand yetmost woefully sad at leaving school.  For threedaysbeforelittle Laura Martinthe orphanfollowed herabout likea little dog.  She had to make and receive atleastfourteen presents--to make fourteen solemn promisesof writingevery week:  "Send my letters under coverto mygrandpapathe Earl of Dexter" said Miss Saltire(whobythe waywas rather shabby).  "Never mind thepostagebut write every dayyou dear darling" said theimpetuousand woolly-headedbut generous andaffectionateMiss Swartz; and the orphan little Laura Martin(who wasjust in round-hand)took her friend's handand saidlooking up in her face wistfully"AmeliawhenI write toyou I shall call you Mamma." All which detailsI have nodoubtJONESwho reads this book at hisClubwillpronounce to be excessively foolishtrivialtwaddlingand ultra-sentimental.  Yes; I can see Jonesat thisminute (rather flushed with his joint of muttonand halfpint of wine)taking out his pencil and scoringunder thewords "foolishtwaddling" &c.and adding tothem hisown remark of "QUITE TRUE." Wellhe is a loftyman ofgeniusand admires the great and heroic in lifeandnovels; and so had better take warning and go elsewhere.

Wellthen.  The flowersand the presentsand thetrunksand bonnet-boxes of Miss Sedley having beenarrangedby Mr. Sambo in the carriagetogether with avery smalland weather-beaten old cow's-skin trunk withMissSharp's card neatly nailed upon itwhich wasdeliveredby Sambo with a grinand packed by thecoachmanwith a corresponding sneer--the hour for partingcame; andthe grief of that moment was considerablylessenedby the admirable discourse which Miss Pinkertonaddressedto her pupil.  Not that the parting speech causedAmelia tophilosophiseor that it armed her in anyway with acalmnessthe result of argument; but it wasintolerablydullpompousand tedious; and having thefear ofher schoolmistress greatly before her eyesMissSedley didnot venturein her presenceto give way toanyebullitions of private grief.  A seed-cake and a bottleof winewere produced in the drawing-roomas on thesolemnoccasions of the visits of parentsand theserefreshmentsbeing partaken ofMiss Sedley was atliberty todepart.

"You'llgo in and say good-by to Miss PinkertonBecky!"said Miss Jemima to a young lady of whomnobodytook any noticeand who was coming downstairswith herown bandbox.

"Isuppose I must" said Miss Sharp calmlyand muchto thewonder of Miss Jemima; and the latter havingknocked atthe doorand receiving permission to comeinMissSharp advanced in a very unconcerned mannerand saidin Frenchand with a perfect accent"Mademoiselleje viensvous faire mes adieux."

MissPinkerton did not understand French; she onlydirectedthose who did: but biting her lips and throwingup hervenerable and Roman-nosed head (on the top ofwhichfigured a large and solemn turban)she said"MissSharpIwish you a good morning." As the HammersmithSemiramisspokeshe waved one handboth by way ofadieuandto give Miss Sharp an opportunity of shakingone of thefingers of the hand which was left out forthatpurpose.

Miss Sharponly folded her own hands with a veryfrigidsmile and bowand quite declined to accept theprofferedhonour; on which Semiramis tossed up herturbanmore indignantly than ever.  In factit was a littlebattlebetween the young lady and the old oneand thelatter wasworsted.  "Heaven bless youmy child" saidsheembracing Ameliaand scowling the while over thegirl'sshoulder at Miss Sharp.  "Come awayBecky" saidMissJemimapulling the young woman away in greatalarmandthe drawing-room door closed upon them forever.

Then camethe struggle and parting below.  Wordsrefuse totell it.  All the servants were there in the hall--all thedear friend--all the young ladies--the dancing-master whohad just arrived; and there was such ascufflingand huggingand kissingand cryingwith thehystericalYOOPS of Miss Swartzthe parlour-boarderfrom herroomas no pen can depictand as the tenderheartwould fain pass over.  The embracing was over; theyparted--thatisMiss Sedley parted from her friends.  MissSharp haddemurely entered the carriage some minutesbefore. Nobody cried for leaving HER.

Sambo ofthe bandy legs slammed the carriage dooron hisyoung weeping mistress.  He sprang up behind thecarriage. "Stop!" cried Miss Jemimarushing to the gatewith aparcel.

"It'ssome sandwichesmy dear" said she to Amelia."Youmay be hungryyou know; and BeckyBeckySharphere's a book for you that my sister--that isI--Johnson'sDixonaryyou know; you mustn't leave uswithoutthat.  Good-by.  Drive oncoachman.  God blessyou!"

And thekind creature retreated into the gardenovercomewith emotion.

Butlo!and just as the coach drove offMiss Sharp puther paleface out of the window and actually flung thebook backinto the garden.

Thisalmost caused Jemima to faint with terror.  "WellInever"--said she--"what an audacious"--Emotionpreventedher from completing either sentence.  Thecarriagerolled away; the great gates were closed; the bellrang forthe dancing lesson.  The world is before the twoyoungladies; and sofarewell to Chiswick Mall.

CHAPTER IIInWhich Miss Sharp and Miss SedleyPrepareto Open the Campaign

When MissSharp had performed the heroical actmentionedin the last chapterand had seen the Dixonaryflyingover the pavement of the little gardenfall at lengthat thefeet of the astonished Miss Jemimathe younglady'scountenancewhich had before worn an almostlivid lookof hatredassumed a smile that perhaps wasscarcelymore agreeableand she sank back in thecarriagein an easy frame of mindsaying--"So much fortheDixonary; andthank GodI'm out of Chiswick."

MissSedley was almost as flurried at the act of defianceas MissJemima had been; forconsiderit was but oneminutethat she had left schooland the impressions ofsix yearsare not got over in that space of time.  Naywith somepersons those awes and terrors of youth lastfor everand ever.  I knowfor instancean old gentlemanofsixty-eightwho said to me one morning at breakfastwith avery agitated countenance"I dreamed lastnight thatI was flogged by Dr. Raine." Fancy had carriedhim backfive-and-fifty years in the course of thatevening. Dr. Raine and his rod were just as awful to himin hisheartthenat sixty-eightas they had been atthirteen. If the Doctorwith a large birchhad appearedbodily tohimeven at the age of threescore and eightand hadsaid in awful voice"Boytake down yourpant--"?WellwellMiss Sedley was exceedinglyalarmed atthis act of insubordination.

"Howcould you do soRebecca?" at last she saidafter apause.

"Whydo you think Miss Pinkerton will come out andorder meback to the black-hole?" said Rebeccalaughing.

"No:but--"

"Ihate the whole house" continued Miss Sharp in afury. "I hope I may never set eyes on it again.  I wish itwere inthe bottom of the ThamesI do; and if MissPinkertonwere thereI wouldn't pick her outthat Iwouldn't. O how I should like to see her floating in thewateryonderturban and allwith her train streamingafter herand her nose like the beak of a wherry."

"Hush!"cried Miss Sedley.

"Whywill the black footman tell tales?" cried MissRebeccalaughing.  "He may go back and tell MissPinkertonthat I hate her with all my soul; and I wish hewould; andI wish I had a means of proving ittoo.  Fortwo yearsI have only had insults and outrage from her.I havebeen treated worse than any servant in the kitchen.I havenever had a friend or a kind wordexcept fromyou. I have been made to tend the little girls in the lowerschoolroomand to talk French to the Missesuntil Igrew sickof my mother tongue.  But that talking Frenchto MissPinkerton was capital funwasn't it? She doesn'tknow aword of Frenchand was too proud to confessit. I believe it was that which made her part with me;and sothank Heaven for French.  Vive la France! Vivel'Empereur!Vive Bonaparte!"

"ORebeccaRebeccafor shame!" cried Miss Sedley;for thiswas the greatest blasphemy Rebecca had as yetuttered;and in those daysin Englandto say"Long liveBonaparte!"was as much as to say"Long live Lucifer!""Howcan you--how dare you have such wickedrevengefulthoughts?"

"Revengemay be wickedbut it's natural" answeredMissRebecca.  "I'm no angel." Andto say the truthshecertainlywas not.

For it maybe remarked in the course of this littleconversation(which took place as the coach rolled alonglazily bythe river side) that though Miss Rebecca Sharphas twicehad occasion to thank Heavenit has beeninthe firstplacefor ridding her of some person whom shehatedandsecondlyfor enabling her to bring herenemies tosome sort of perplexity or confusion; neitherof whichare very amiable motives for religious gratitudeor such aswould be put forward by persons of a kindandplacable disposition.  Miss Rebecca was nottheninthe leastkind or placable.  All the world used her illsaidthis youngmisanthropistand we may be pretty certainthatpersons whom all the world treats illdeserveentirelythe treatment they get.  The world is a looking-glassandgives back to every man the reflection of hisown face. Frown at itand it will in turn look sourlyupon you;laugh at it and with itand it is a jolly kindcompanion;and so let all young persons take their choice.This iscertainthat if the world neglected Miss Sharpshe neverwas known to have done a good action inbehalf ofanybody; nor can it be expected that twenty-four youngladies should all be as amiable as the heroineof thisworkMiss Sedley (whom we have selected forthe veryreason that she was the best-natured of allotherwisewhat on earth was to have prevented us fromputting upMiss Swartzor Miss Crumpor Miss Hopkinsas heroinein her place!)
it could not be expected thatevery oneshould be of the humble and gentle temperof MissAmelia Sedley; should take every opportunity tovanquishRebecca's hard-heartedness and ill-humour; andby athousand kind words and officesovercomefor onceat leasther hostility to her kind.

MissSharp's father was an artistand in that qualityhad givenlessons of drawing at Miss Pinkerton's school.He was aclever man; a pleasant companion; a carelessstudent;with a great propensity for running into debtand apartiality for the tavern.  When he was drunkheused tobeat his wife and daughter; and the next morningwith aheadachehe would rail at the world for its neglectof hisgeniusand abusewith a good deal of clevernessandsometimes with perfect reasonthe foolshis brotherpainters. As it was with the utmost difficulty that hecould keephimselfand as he owed money for a mileroundSohowhere he livedhe thought to better hiscircumstancesby marrying a young woman of the Frenchnationwho was by profession an opera-girl.  The humblecalling ofher female parent Miss Sharp never alluded tobut usedto state subsequently that the Entrechats werea noblefamily of Gasconyand took great pride in herdescentfrom them.  And curious it is that as she advancedin lifethis young lady's ancestors increased in rank andsplendour.

Rebecca'smother had had some education somewhereand herdaughter spoke French with purity and a Parisianaccent. It was in those days rather a rare accomplishmentand led toher engagement with the orthodox MissPinkerton. For her mother being deadher fatherfindinghimselfnot likely to recoverafter his third attack ofdeliriumtremenswrote a manly and pathetic letter toMissPinkertonrecommending the orphan child to herprotectionand so descended to the graveafter twobailiffshad quarrelled over his corpse.  Rebecca wasseventeenwhen she came to Chiswickand was boundover as anarticled pupil; her duties being to talk Frenchas we haveseen; and her privileges to live cost freeandwith a fewguineas a yearto gather scraps of knowledgefrom theprofessors who attended the school.

She wassmall and slight in person; palesandy-hairedand witheyes habitually cast down: when they looked upthey werevery largeoddand attractive; so attractivethat theReverend Mr. Crispfresh from Oxfordandcurate tothe Vicar of Chiswickthe Reverend Mr.Flowerdewfell in love with Miss Sharp; being shot deadby aglance of her eyes which was fired all the way acrossChiswickChurch from the school-pew to the reading-desk. This infatuated young man used sometimes to taketea withMiss Pinkertonto whom he had been presentedby hismammaand actually proposed something likemarriagein an intercepted notewhich the one-eyedapple-womanwas charged to deliver.  Mrs. Crisp wassummonedfrom Buxtonand abruptly carried off her darlingboy; butthe ideaevenof such an eagle in the Chiswickdovecotcaused a great flutter in the breast of MissPinkertonwho would have sent away Miss Sharp but thatshe wasbound to her under a forfeitand who nevercouldthoroughly believe the young lady's protestationsthat shehad never exchanged a single word with Mr.Crispexcept under her own eyes on the two occasionswhen shehad met him at tea.

By theside of many tall and bouncing young ladies intheestablishmentRebecca Sharp looked like a child.  Butshe hadthe dismal precocity of poverty.  Many a dun hadshe talkedtoand turned away from her father's door;many atradesman had she coaxed and wheedled intogood-humourand into the granting of one meal more.She satecommonly with her fatherwho was very proudof herwitand heard the talk of many of his wildcompanions--oftenbut ill-suited for a girl to hear.  But shenever hadbeen a girlshe said; she had been a womansince shewas eight years old.  Ohwhy did Miss Pinkertonlet such adangerous bird into her cage?

The factisthe old lady believed Rebecca to be themeekestcreature in the worldso admirablyon theoccasionswhen her father brought her to ChiswickusedRebecca toperform the part of the ingenue; and only ayearbefore the arrangement by which Rebecca had beenadmittedinto her houseand when Rebecca was sixteenyears oldMiss Pinkerton majesticallyand with a littlespeechmade her a present of a doll--which wasbythe waythe confiscated property of Miss Swindlediscoveredsurreptitiously nursing it in school-hours.  Howthe fatherand daughter laughed as they trudged hometogetherafter the evening party (it was on the occasion ofthespeecheswhen all the professors were invited) andhow MissPinkerton would have raged had she seen thecaricatureof herself which the little mimicRebeccamanaged tomake out of her doll.  Becky used to gothroughdialogues with it; it formed the delight ofNewmanStreetGerrard Streetand the Artists' quarter:and theyoung painterswhen they came to take their gin-and-waterwith their lazydissolutecleverjovial seniorusedregularly to ask Rebecca if Miss Pinkerton was athome: shewas as well known to thempoor soul! asMr.Lawrence or President West.  Once Rebecca had thehonour topass a few days at Chiswick; after which shebroughtback Jemimaand erected another doll as MissJemmy: forthough that honest creature had made andgiven herjelly and cake enough for three childrenandaseven-shilling piece at partingthe girl's sense ofridiculewas far stronger than her gratitudeand shesacrificedMiss Jemmy quite as pitilessly as her sister.

Thecatastrophe cameand she was brought to theMall as toher home.  The rigid formality of the placesuffocatedher: the prayers and the mealsthe lessonsand thewalkswhich were arranged with a conventualregularityoppressed her almost beyond endurance; andshe lookedback to the freedom and the beggary of theold studioin Soho with so much regretthat everybodyherselfincludedfancied she was consumed with grieffor herfather.  She had a little room in the garretwherethe maidsheard her walking and sobbing at night; but itwas withrageand not with grief.  She had not been muchof adissembleruntil now her loneliness taught her tofeign. She had never mingled in the society of women:herfatherreprobate as he waswas a man of talent; hisconversationwas a thousand times more agreeable to herthan thetalk of such of her own sex as she now encountered.Thepompous vanity of the old schoolmistressthe foolishgood-humourof her sisterthe silly chat and scandal of theeldergirlsand the frigid correctness of the governessesequallyannoyed her; and she had no softmaternalheartthis unlucky girlotherwise the prattleand talkof the younger childrenwith whose care shewaschiefly intrustedmight have soothed and interestedher; butshe lived among them two yearsand not onewas sorrythat she went away.  The gentle tender-heartedAmelia Sedley was the only person to whom shecouldattach herself in the least; and who could helpattachingherself to Amelia?

Thehappiness
the superior advantages of the youngwomenround about hergave Rebecca inexpressiblepangs ofenvy.  "What airs that girl gives herselfbecauseshe is anEarl's grand-daughter" she said of one.  "Howtheycringe and bow to that Creolebecause of herhundredthousand pounds!  I am a thousand times clevererand morecharming than that creaturefor all her wealth.I am aswell bred as the Earl's grand-daughterfor all herfinepedigree; and yet every one passes me by here.  AndyetwhenI was at my father'sdid not the men give uptheirgayest balls and parties in order to pass the eveningwith me?"She determined at any rate to get free fromthe prisonin which she found herselfand now began toact forherselfand for the first time to make connectedplans forthe future.

She tookadvantagethereforeof the means of studythe placeoffered her; and as she was already a musicianand a goodlinguistshe speedily went through the littlecourse ofstudy which was considered necessary for ladiesin thosedays.  Her music she practised incessantlyandone daywhen the girls were outand she had remainedat homeshe was overheard to play a piece so well thatMinervathoughtwiselyshe could spare herself theexpense ofa master for the juniorsand intimated to MissSharp thatshe was to instruct them in music for thefuture.

The girlrefused; and for the first timeand to theastonishmentof the majestic mistress of the school.  "Iam here tospeak French with the children" Rebeccasaidabruptly"not to teach them musicand save moneyfor you. Give me moneyand I will teach them."

Minervawas obliged to yieldandof coursedislikedher fromthat day.  "For five-and-thirty years" she saidand withgreat justice"I never have seen the individualwho hasdared in my own house to question myauthority. I have nourished a viper in my bosom."

"Aviper--a fiddlestick" said Miss Sharp to the oldladyalmost fainting with astonishment.  "You took mebecause Iwas useful.  There is no question of gratitudebetweenus.  I hate this placeand want to leave it.  Iwill donothing here but what I am obliged to do."

It was invain that the old lady asked her if she wasaware shewas speaking to Miss Pinkerton?  Rebeccalaughed inher facewith a horrid sarcastic demoniacallaughterthat almost sent the schoolmistress into fits."Giveme a sum of money" said the girl"and get ridof me--orif you like betterget me a good place asgovernessin a nobleman's family--you can do so if youplease." And in their further disputes she always returnedto thispoint"Get me a situation--we hate each otherand I amready to go."

WorthyMiss Pinkertonalthough she had a Romannose and aturbanand was as tall as a grenadierandhad beenup to this time an irresistible princesshad nowill orstrength like that of her little apprenticeand invain didbattle against herand tried to overawe her.Attemptingonce to scold her in publicRebecca hit uponthebefore-mentioned plan of answering her in Frenchwhichquite routed the old woman.  In order to maintainauthorityin her schoolit became necessary to removethisrebelthis monsterthis serpentthis firebrand; andhearingabout this time that Sir Pitt Crawley's familywas inwant of a governessshe actually recommendedMiss Sharpfor the situationfirebrand and serpent asshe was. "I cannotcertainly" she said"find fault withMissSharp's conductexcept to myself; and must allowthat hertalents and accomplishments are of a high order.As far asthe head goesat leastshe does credit to theeducationalsystem pursued at my establishment.''

And so theschoolmistress reconciled the recommendationto herconscienceand the indentures were cancelledand theapprentice was free.  The battle here describedin a fewlinesof courselasted for some months.  Andas MissSedleybeing now in her seventeenth yearwasabout toleave schooland had a friendship for MissSharp("'tis the only point in Amelia's behaviour" saidMinerva"which has not been satisfactory to hermistress")Miss Sharp was invited by her friend topass aweek with her at homebefore she enteredupon herduties as governess in a private family.

Thus theworld began for these two young ladies.  ForAmelia itwas quite a newfreshbrilliant worldwithall thebloom upon it.  It was not quite a new one forRebecca--(indeedif the truth must be told with respectto theCrisp affairthe tart-woman hinted to somebodywho tookan affidavit of the fact to somebody elsethatthere wasa great deal more than was made publicregardingMr. Crisp and Miss Sharpand that his letterwas inanswer to another letter).  But who can tell youthe realtruth of the matter? At all eventsif Rebeccawas notbeginning the worldshe was beginning it overagain.

By thetime the young ladies reached Kensington turnpikeAmelia hadnot forgotten her companionsbut haddried hertearsand had blushed very much and beendelightedat a young officer of the Life Guardswho spiedher as hewas riding byand said"A dem fine galegad!"and before the carriage arrived in Russell Squarea greatdeal of conversation had taken place about theDrawing-roomand whether or not young ladies worepowder aswell as hoops when presentedand whethershe was tohave that honour: to the Lord Mayor's ballshe knewshe was to go.  And when at length home wasreachedMiss Amelia Sedley skipped out on Sambo'sarmashappy and as handsome a girl as any in the wholebig cityof London.  Both he and coachman agreed onthispointand so did her father and motherand so didevery oneof the servants in the houseas they stoodbobbingand curtseyingand smilingin the hall towelcometheir young mistress.

You may besure that she showed Rebecca over everyroom ofthe houseand everything in every one of herdrawers;and her booksand her pianoand her dressesand allher necklacesbroocheslacesand gimcracks.Sheinsisted upon Rebecca accepting the white cornelianand theturquoise ringsand a sweet sprigged muslinwhich wastoo small for her nowthough it would fither friendto a nicety; and she determined in her heartto ask hermother's permission to present her whiteCashmereshawl to her friend.  Could she not spare it? andhad nother brother Joseph just brought her two fromIndia?

WhenRebecca saw the two magnificent Cashmereshawlswhich Joseph Sedley had brought home to hissistershe saidwith perfect truth"that it must bedelightfulto have a brother" and easily got the pity of thetender-heartedAmelia for being alone in the worldanorphanwithout friends or kindred.

"Notalone" said Amelia; "you knowRebeccaI shallalways beyour friendand love you as a sister--indeedI will."

"Ahbut to have parentsas you have--kindrichaffectionateparentswho give you everything you-askfor; andtheir lovewhich is more precious than all!My poorpapa could give me nothingand I had but twofrocks inall the world! And thento have a brotheradearbrother! Ohhow you must love him!"

Amelialaughed.

"What!don't you love him? youwho say you loveeverybody?"                          ~;

"Yesof courseI do--only--"

"Onlywhat?"

"OnlyJoseph doesn't seem to care much whether Ilove himor not.  He gave me two fingers to shake whenhe arrivedafter ten years' absence!  He is very kind andgoodbuthe scarcely ever speaks to me; I think heloves hispipe a great deal better than his"--but hereAmeliachecked herselffor why should she speak ill ofherbrother? "He was very kind to me as a child" sheadded; "Iwas but five years old when he went away."

"Isn'the very rich?" said Rebecca.  "They say all Indiannabobs areenormously rich."

"Ibelieve he has a very large income."

"Andis your sister-in-law a nice pretty woman?" "La!Joseph is not married" said Amelialaughingagain. Perhapsshe had mentioned the fact already to Rebeccabut thatyoung lady did not appear to have rememberedit;indeedvowed and protested that she expected to seea numberof Amelia's nephews and nieces.  She was quitedisappointedthat Mr. Sedley was not married; she wassureAmelia had said he wasand she doted so on littlechildren.

"Ithink you must have had enough of them atChiswick"said Ameliarather wondering at the suddentendernesson her friend's part; and indeed in later daysMiss Sharpwould never have committed herself so faras toadvance opinionsthe untruth of which would havebeen soeasily detected.  But we must remember that sheis butnineteen as yetunused to the art of deceivingpoorinnocent creature! and making her own experiencein her ownperson.  The meaning of the above series ofqueriesas translated in the heart of this ingenious youngwomanwassimply this: "If Mr. Joseph Sedley is richandunmarriedwhy should I not marry him? I haveonly afortnightto be surebut there is no harm intrying."And she determined within herself to make thislaudableattempt.  She redoubled her caresses to Amelia;she kissedthe white cornelian necklace as she put iton; andvowed she would nevernever part with it.  Whenthedinner-bell rang she went downstairs with her armround herfriend's waistas is the habit of young ladies.She was soagitated at the drawing-room doorthat shecouldhardly find courage to enter.  "Feel my hearthowit beatsdear!" said she to her friend.

"Noit doesn't" said Amelia.  "Come indon't befrightened. Papa won't do you any harm."

CHAPTERIIIRebeccaIs in Presence of the Enemy

 AVERY stoutpuffy manin buckskins and Hessianbootswith several immense neckcloths that rose almostto hisnosewith a red striped waistcoat and an applegreen coatwith steel buttons almost as large as crownpieces (itwas the morning costume of a dandy or bloodof thosedays) was reading the paper by the fire whenthe twogirls enteredand bounced off his arm-chairandblushed excessivelyand hid his entire face almostin hisneckcloths at this apparition.

"It'sonly your sisterJoseph" said Amelialaughingandshaking the two fingers which he held out.  "I'vecome homeFOR GOODyou know; and this is my friendMissSharpwhom you have heard me mention."

"Noneverupon my word" said the head under theneckclothshaking very much--"that isyes--whatabominablycold weatherMiss"--and herewith he fellto pokingthe fire with all his mightalthough it was in themiddle ofJune.

"He'svery handsome" whispered Rebecca to Ameliaratherloud.

"Doyou think so?" said the latter.  "I'll tell him."

"Darling!not for worlds" said Miss Sharpstartingback astimid as a fawn.  She had previously made arespectfulvirgin-like curtsey to the gentlemanand hermodesteyes gazed so perseveringly on the carpet that itwas awonder how she should have found an opportunityto seehim.

"Thankyou for the beautiful shawlsbrother" saidAmelia tothe fire poker.  "Are they not beautifulRebecca?"

"Oheavenly!" said Miss Sharpand her eyes wentfrom thecarpet straight to the chandelier.

Josephstill continued a huge clattering at the pokerand tongspuffing and blowing the whileand turningas red ashis yellow face would allow him.  "I can'tmake yousuch handsome presentsJoseph" continuedhissister"but while I was at schoolI have embroideredfor you avery beautiful pair of braces."

"GoodGad! Amelia" cried the brotherin seriousalarm"what do you mean?" and plunging with all hismight atthe bell-ropethat article of furniture cameaway inhis handand increased the honest fellow'sconfusion. "For heaven's sake see if my buggy's at thedoor. I CAN'T wait.  I must go.  D-- that groom of mine.I mustgo."

At thisminute the father of the family walked inrattlinghis seals like a true British merchant.  "What'sthematterEmmy?" says he.

"Josephwants me to see if his--his buggy is at thedoor. What is a buggyPapa?"

"Itis a one-horse palanquin" said the old gentlemanwho was awag in his way.

Joseph atthis burst out into a wild fit of laughter;in whichencountering the eye of Miss Sharphe stoppedall of asuddenas if he had been shot.

"Thisyoung lady is your friend? Miss SharpI amvery happyto see you.  Have you and Emmy beenquarrellingalready with Josephthat he wants to be off?"

"Ipromised Bonamy of our servicesir" said Joseph"todine with him."

"Ofie! didn't you tell your mother you would dinehere?"

"Butin this dress it's impossible."

"Lookat himisn't he handsome enough to dineanywhereMiss Sharp?"

On whichof courseMiss Sharp looked at her friendand theyboth set off in a fit of laughterhighlyagreeableto the old gentleman.

"Didyou ever see a pair of buckskins like those atMissPinkerton's?" continued hefollowing up hisadvantage.

"Graciousheavens! Father" cried Joseph.

"TherenowI have hurt his feelings.  Mrs. Sedleymy dearIhave hurt your son's feelings.  I have alludedto hisbuckskins.  Ask Miss Sharp if I haven't? ComeJosephbefriends with Miss Sharpand let us all go todinner."

"There'sa pillauJosephjust as you like itand Papahasbrought home the best turbot in Billingsgate."

"Comecomesirwalk downstairs with Miss Sharpand I willfollow with these two young women" saidthefatherand he took an arm of wife and daughterand walkedmerrily off.

If MissRebecca Sharp had determined in her heartuponmaking the conquest of this big beauI don'tthinkladieswe have any right to blame her; for thoughthe taskof husband-hunting is generallyand withbecomingmodestyentrusted by young persons to theirmammasrecollect that Miss Sharp had no kind parentto arrangethese delicate matters for herand that ifshe didnot get a husband for herselfthere was no oneelse inthe wide world who would take the trouble offherhands.  What causes young people to "come out"but thenoble ambition of matrimony? What sends themtroopingto watering-places? What keeps them dancingtill fiveo'clock in the morning through a whole mortalseason?What causes them to labour at pianoforte sonatasand tolearn four songs from a fashionable master at aguinea alessonand to play the harp if they havehandsomearms and neat elbowsand to wear LincolnGreentoxophilite hats and feathersbut that they may bringdown some"desirable" young man with those killing bowsand arrowsof theirs? What causes respectable parentsto take uptheir carpetsset their houses topsy-turvyandspend afifth of their year's income in ball suppers andicedchampagne? Is it sheer love of their speciesandanunadulterated wish to see young people happy anddancing?Psha! they want to marry their daughters; andas honestMrs. Sedley hasin the depths of her kindheartalready arranged a score of little schemes for thesettlementof her Ameliaso also had our beloved butunprotectedRebecca determined to do her very best tosecure thehusbandwho was even more necessary forher thanfor her friend.  She had a vivid imagination; shehadbesidesread the Arabian Nights and Guthrie'sGeography;and it is a fact that while she was dressing fordinnerand after she had asked Amelia whether herbrotherwas very richshe had built for herself a mostmagnificentcastle in the airof which she was mistresswith ahusband somewhere in the background (she hadnot seenhim as yetand his figure would not thereforebe verydistinct); she had arrayed herself in an infinityof shawlsturbansand diamond necklacesand hadmountedupon an elephant to the sound of the march inBluebeardin order to pay a visit of ceremony to theGrandMogul.  Charming Alnaschar visions! it is thehappyprivilege of youth to construct youand manya fancifulyoung creature besides Rebecca Sharp hasindulgedin these delightful day-dreams ere now!

JosephSedley was twelve years older than his sisterAmelia. He was in the East India Company's CivilServiceand his name appearedat the period of whichwe writein the Bengal division of the East India Registerascollector of Boggley Wollahan honourable andlucrativepostas everybody knows: in order to knowto whathigher posts Joseph rose in the servicethereader isreferred to the same periodical.

BoggleyWollah is situated in a finelonelymarshyjunglydistrictfamous for snipe-shootingand wherenotunfrequently you may flush a tiger.  Ramgungewherethere is amagistrateis only forty miles offand thereis acavalry station about thirty miles farther; so Josephwrote hometo his parentswhen he took possession ofhiscollectorship.  He had lived for about eight years ofhis lifequite aloneat this charming placescarcelyseeing aChristian face except twice a yearwhen thedetachmentarrived to carry off the revenues which hehadcollectedto Calcutta.

Luckilyat this time he caught a liver complaintforthe cureof which he returned to Europeand whichwas thesource of great comfort and amusement to himin hisnative country.  He did not live with his familywhile inLondonbut had lodgings of his ownlikea gayyoung bachelor.  Before he went to India he wastoo youngto partake of the delightful pleasures of aman abouttownand plunged into them on his returnwithconsiderable assiduity.  He drove his horses in thePark; hedined at the fashionable taverns (for theOrientalClub was not as yet invented); he frequentedthetheatresas the mode was in those daysor madehisappearance at the operalaboriously attired in tightsand acocked hat.

Onreturning to Indiaand ever afterhe used to talkof thepleasure of this period of his existence with greatenthusiasmand give you to understand that he andBrummelwere the leading bucks of the day.  But he wasas lonelyhere as in his jungle at Boggley Wollah.  Hescarcelyknew a single soul in the metropolis: and wereit not forhis doctorand the society of his blue-pilland hisliver complainthe must have died of loneliness.He waslazypeevishand a bon-vivan; the appearanceof a ladyfrightened him beyond measure; hence it wasbut seldomthat he joined the paternal circle in RussellSquarewhere there was plenty of gaietyand where thejokes ofhis good-natured old father frightened hisamour-propre. His bulk caused Joseph much anxiousthoughtand alarm; now and then he would make adesperateattempt to get rid of his superabundant fat;but hisindolence and love of good living speedily gotthe betterof these endeavours at reformand he foundhimselfagain at his three meals a day.  He never waswelldressed; but he took the hugest pains to adorn hisbigpersonand passed many hours daily in that occupation.His valetmade a fortune out of his wardrobe: histoilet-tablewas covered with as many pomatums andessencesas ever were employed by an old beauty: he hadtriedinorder to give himself a waistevery girthstayandwaistband then invented.  Like most fat menhewould havehis clothes made too tightand took caretheyshould be of the most brilliant colours and youthfulcut. When dressed at lengthin the afternoonhe wouldissueforth to take a drive with nobody in the Park;and thenwould come back in order to dress again andgo anddine with nobody at the Piazza Coffee-House.He was asvain as a girl; and perhaps his extremeshynesswas one of the results of his extreme vanity.  IfMissRebecca can get the better of himand at her firstentranceinto lifeshe is a young person of no ordinarycleverness.

The firstmove showed considerable skill.  When shecalledSedley a very handsome manshe knew thatAmeliawould tell her motherwho would probably tellJosephorwhoat any ratewould be pleased by thecomplimentpaid to her son.  All mothers are.  If youhad toldSycorax that her son Caliban was as handsomeas Apolloshe would have been pleasedwitch as shewas. PerhapstooJoseph Sedley would overhear thecompliment--Rebeccaspoke loud enough--and he didhearand(thinking in his heart that he was a very fineman) thepraise thrilled through every fibre of his bigbodyandmade it tingle with pleasure.  Thenhowevercame arecoil.  "Is the girl making fun of me?" he thoughtandstraightway he bounced towards the belland wasforretreatingas we have seenwhen his father's jokesand hismother's entreaties caused him to pause andstay wherehe was.  He conducted the young lady downto dinnerin a dubious and agitated frame of mind."Doesshe really think I am handsome?" thought he"oris she only making game of me?" We have talkedof JosephSedley being as vain as a girl.  Heaven helpus! thegirls have only to turn the tablesand sayof one oftheir own sex"She is as vain as a man"and theywill have perfect reason.  The bearded creaturesare quiteas eager for praisequite as finikin over theirtoilettesquite as proud of their personal advantagesquite asconscious of their powers of fascinationasanycoquette in the world.

Downstairsthenthey wentJoseph very red andblushingRebecca very modestand holding her greeneyesdownwards.  She was dressed in whitewith bareshouldersas white as snow--the picture of youthunprotectedinnocenceand humble virgin simplicity."Imust be very quiet" thought Rebecca"and very muchinterestedabout India."

Now wehave heard how Mrs. Sedley had prepared afine curryfor her sonjust as he liked itand in thecourse ofdinner a portion of this dish was offered toRebecca. "What is it?" said sheturning an appealinglook toMr. Joseph.

"Capital"said he.  His mouth was full of it: his facequite redwith the delightful exercise of gobbling."Motherit's as good as my own curries in India."

"OhI must try someif it is an Indian dish" saidMissRebecca.  "I am sure everything must be good thatcomes fromthere."

"GiveMiss Sharp some currymy dear" said Mr.Sedleylaughing.

Rebeccahad never tasted the dish before.

"Doyou find it as good as everything else from India?"said Mr.Sedley.

"Ohexcellent!" said Rebeccawho was sufferingtortureswith the cayenne pepper.

"Trya chili with itMiss Sharp" said Josephreallyinterested.

"Achili" said Rebeccagasping.  "Oh yes!" She thoughta chiliwas something coolas its name importedand wasserved with some.  "How fresh and green theylook"she saidand put one into her mouth.  It washotterthan the curry; flesh and blood could bear it nolonger. She laid down her fork.  "Waterfor Heaven'ssakewater!" she cried.  Mr. Sedley burst out laughing(he was acoarse manfrom the Stock Exchangewherethey loveall sorts of practical jokes).  "They are realIndianIassure you" said he.  "Sambogive Miss Sharpsomewater."

Thepaternal laugh was echoed by Josephwho thoughtthe jokecapital.  The ladies only smiled a little.  Theythoughtpoor Rebecca suffered too much.  She would haveliked tochoke old Sedleybut she swallowed hermortificationas well as she had the abominable currybefore itand as soon as she could speaksaidwith a comicalgood-humouredair"I ought to have remembered thepepperwhich the Princess of Persia puts in the cream-tarts inthe Arabian Nights.  Do you put cayenne intoyourcream-tarts in Indiasir?"

Old Sedleybegan to laughand thought Rebeccawas agood-humoured girl.  Joseph simply said"Cream-tartsMiss? Our cream is very bad in Bengal.  Wegenerallyuse goats' milk; and'gaddo you knowI've gotto preferit!"

"Youwon't like EVERYTHING from India nowMissSharp"said the old gentleman; but when the ladies hadretiredafter dinnerthe wily old fellow said to his son"Havea careJoe; that girl is setting her cap at you."

"Pooh!nonsense!" said Joehighly flattered.  "I recollectsirtherewas a girl at Dumduma daughter ofCutler ofthe Artilleryand afterwards married to Lancethesurgeonwho made a dead set at me in the year'4--at meand Mulligatawneywhom I mentioned to youbeforedinner--a devilish good fellow Mulligatawney--he's amagistrate at Budgebudgeand sure to be incouncil infive years.  Wellsirthe Artillery gave a ballandQuintinof the King's 14thsaid to me'Sedley' saidhe'I betyou thirteen to ten that Sophy Cutler hookseither youor Mulligatawney before the rains.' 'Done'says I;and egadsir--this claret's very good.  Adamson'sorCarbonell's?"

A slightsnore was the only reply: the honest stockbrokerwasasleepand so the rest of Joseph's story was lostfor thatday.  But he was always exceedinglycommunicativein a man's partyand has told thisdelightfultale many scores of times to his apothecaryDr.Gollopwhen he came to inquire about the liver andtheblue-pill.

Being aninvalidJoseph Sedley contented himself witha bottleof claret besides his Madeira at dinnerandhe manageda couple of plates full of strawberries andcreamandtwenty-four little rout cakes that were lyingneglectedin a plate near himand certainly (fornovelistshave the privilege of knowing everything)he thoughta great deal about the girl upstairs.  "A nicegaymerryyoung creature" thought he to himself.  "Howshe lookedat me when I picked up her handkerchief atdinner! She dropped it twice.  Who's that singing in thedrawing-room?'Gad! shall I go up and see?"

But hismodesty came rushing upon him withuncontrollableforce.  His father was asleep: his hatwas in thehall: there was a hackney-coach standinghard by inSouthampton Row.  "I'll go and see the FortyThieves"said he"and Miss Decamp's dance"; and heslippedaway gently on the pointed toes of his bootsand disappearedwithout waking his worthy parent.

"Theregoes Joseph" said Ameliawho was lookingfrom theopen windows of the drawing-roomwhileRebeccawas singing at the piano.

"MissSharp has frightened him away" said Mrs.Sedley. "Poor Joewhy WILL he be so shy?"

CHAPTER IVTheGreen Silk Purse

Poor Joe'spanic lasted for two or three days; duringwhich hedid not visit the housenor during that perioddid MissRebecca ever mention his name.  She was allrespectfulgratitude to Mrs. Sedley; delighted beyondmeasure atthe Bazaars; and in a whirl of wonder at thetheatrewhither the good-natured lady took her.  OnedayAmelia had a headacheand could not go upon someparty ofpleasure to which the two young people wereinvited:nothing could induce her friend to go without her."What!you who have shown the poor orphan whathappinessand love are for the first time in her life--quitYOU? Never!"  and the green eyes looked up to Heavenand filledwith tears; and Mrs. Sedley could not but ownthat herdaughter's friend had a charming kind heartof herown.

As for Mr.Sedley's jokesRebecca laughed at themwith acordiality and perseverance which not a littlepleasedand softened that good-natured gentleman.  Norwas itwith the chiefs of the family alone that MissSharpfound favour.  She interested Mrs. Blenkinsop byevincingthe deepest sympathy in the raspberry-jampreservingwhich operation was then going on in theHousekeeper'sroom; she persisted in calling Sambo "Sir"and "Mr.Sambo" to the delight of that attendant; and sheapologisedto the lady's maid for giving her trouble inventuringto ring the bellwith such sweetness andhumilitythat the Servants' Hall was almost as charmedwith heras the Drawing Room.

Onceinlooking over some drawings which Ameliahad sentfrom schoolRebecca suddenly came upon onewhichcaused her to burst into tears and leave the room.It was onthe day when Joe Sedley made his secondappearance.

Ameliahastened after her friend to know the causeof thisdisplay of feelingand the good-natured girl camebackwithout her companionrather affected too.  "Youknowherfather was our drawing-masterMammaatChiswickand used to do all the best parts of our drawings."   "Mylove! I'm sure I always heard Miss Pinkerton saythat hedid not touch them--he only mounted them.""Itwas called mountingMamma.  Rebecca remembersthedrawingand her father working at itand thethought ofit came upon her rather suddenly--and soyou knowshe--"   "Thepoor child is all heart" said Mrs. Sedley.

"Iwish she could stay with us another week" saidAmelia.

"She'sdevilish like Miss Cutler that I used to meetat Dumdumonly fairer.  She's married now to LancetheArtillery Surgeon.  Do you knowMa'amthat onceQuintinof the 14thbet me--"

"0Josephwe know that story" said Amelialaughing.Never mindabout telling that; but persuade Mammato writeto Sir Something Crawley for leave of absencefor poordear Rebecca: here she comesher eyes redwithweeping."    "I'mbetternow" said the girlwith the sweetest smilepossibletaking good-natured Mrs. Sedley's extended handandkissing it respectfully.  "How kind you all are to me!All"she addedwith a laugh"except youMr. Joseph."    "Me!"said Josephmeditating an instant departure"GraciousHeavens! Good Gad! Miss Sharp!'    "Yes;how could you be so cruel as to make me eatthathorrid pepper-dish at dinnerthe first day I eversaw you?You are not so good to me as dear Amelia."    "Hedoesn't know you so well" cried Amelia.    "Idefy anybody not to be good to youmy dear"said hermother.    "Thecurry was capital; indeed it was" said Joequitegravely. "Perhaps there was NOT enough citron juice init--nothere was NOT."

"Andthe chilis?"

"ByJovehow they made you cry out!" said Joecaught bythe ridicule of the circumstanceandexplodingin a fit of laughter which ended quitesuddenlyas usual.

"Ishall take care how I let YOU choose for meanothertime" said Rebeccaas they went downagain todinner.  "I didn't think men were fond ofputtingpoor harmless girls to pain."

"ByGadMiss RebeccaI wouldn't hurt you for theworld."

"No"said she"I KNOW you wouldn't"; and then shegave himever so gentle a pressure with her little handand drewit back quite frightenedand looked first foroneinstant in his faceand then down at the carpet-rods; andI am not prepared to say that Joe's heart didnot thumpat this little involuntarytimidgentle motionof regardon the part of the simple girl.

It was anadvanceand as suchperhapssome ladiesofindisputable correctness and gentility will condemn theaction asimmodest; butyou seepoor dear Rebeccahad allthis work to do for herself.  If a person is toopoor tokeep a servantthough ever so eleganthe mustsweep hisown rooms: if a dear girl has no dear Mammato settlematters with the young manshe must do itforherself.  And ohwhat a mercy it is that these womendo notexercise their powers oftener! We can't resistthemifthey do.  Let them show ever so little inclinationand men godown on their knees at once: old or uglyit is allthe same.  And this I set down as a positivetruth. A woman with fair opportunitiesand without anabsolutehumpmay marry WHOM SHE LIKES.  Only let usbethankful that the darlings are like the beasts of thefieldanddon't know their own power.  They wouldovercomeus entirely if they did.

"Egad!"thought Josephentering the dining-room"Iexactlybegin to feel as I did at Dumdum with MissCutler."Many sweet little appealshalf tenderhalfjoculardid Miss Sharp make to him about the dishesat dinner;for by this time she was on a footing ofconsiderablefamiliarity with the familyand as for thegirlsthey loved each other like sisters.  Young unmarriedgirlsalways doif they are in a house together for tendays.

As if bentupon advancing Rebecca's plans in everyway--whatmust Amelia dobut remind her brother ofa promisemade last Easter holidays--"When I was agirl atschool" said shelaughing--a promise that heJosephwould take her to Vauxhall.  "Now" she said"thatRebecca is with uswill be the very time."

"Odelightful!" said Rebeccagoing to clap her hands;but sherecollected herselfand pausedlike a modestcreatureas she was.

"To-nightis not the night" said Joe. "Wellto-morrow." "To-morrowyour Papa and I dine out" said Mrs.Sedley.

"Youdon't suppose that I'm goingMrs. Sed?" saidherhusband"and that a woman of your years and sizeis tocatch coldin such an abominable damp place?"

'Thechildren must have someone with them" criedMrs.Sedley.

"LetJoe go" said-his fatherlaughing.  "He's bigenough."At which speech even Mr. Sambo at thesideboardburst out laughingand poor fat Joe feltinclinedto become a parricide almost.

"Undohis stays!" continued the pitiless old gentleman."Flingsome water in his faceMiss Sharpor carry himupstairs:the dear creature's fainting.  Poor victim! carryhim up;he's as light as a feather!"

"If Istand thissirI'm d--!" roared Joseph.

"OrderMr. Jos's elephantSambo!" cried the father."Sendto Exeter 'ChangeSambo"; but seeing Jos readyalmost tocry with vexationthe old joker stopped hislaughterand saidholding out his hand to his son"It'sall fairon the Stock ExchangeJos--andSambonevermind theelephantbut give me and Mr. Jos a glass ofChampagne. Boney himself hasn't got such in his cellarmy boy!"

A gobletof Champagne restored Joseph's equanimityand beforethe bottle was emptiedof which as an invalidhe tooktwo-thirdshe had agreed to take the youngladies toVauxhall.

"Thegirls must have a gentleman apiece" said the oldgentleman. "Jos will be sure to leave Emmy in the crowdhe will beso taken up with Miss Sharp here.  Send to 96and askGeorge Osborne if he'll come."

At thisIdon't know in the least for what reasonMrs.Sedley looked at her husband and laughed.  Mr.Sedley'seyes twinkled in a manner indescribablyroguishand he looked at Amelia; and Ameliahangingdown herheadblushed as only young ladies of seventeenknow howto blushand as Miss Rebecca Sharp neverblushed inher life--at least not since she was eightyears oldand when she was caught stealing jam out ofa cupboardby her godmother.  "Amelia had better writea note"said her father; "and let George Osborne seewhat abeautiful handwriting we have brought back fromMissPinkerton's.  Do you remember when you wrote tohim tocome on Twelfth-nightEmmyand spelt twelfthwithoutthe f?"

"Thatwas years ago" said Amelia.

"Itseems like yesterdaydon't itJohn?" said Mrs.Sedley toher husband; and that night in a conversationwhich tookplace in a front room in the second floorin a sortof tenthung round with chintz of a rich andfantasticIndia patternand double with calico of atenderrose-colour; in the interior of which species ofmarqueewas a featherbedon which were two pillowson whichwere two round red facesone in a lacednightcapand one in a simple cotton oneending in a tassel--in ACURTAIN LECTUREI sayMrs. Sedley took herhusband totask for his cruel conduct to poor Joe.

"Itwas quite wicked of youMr. Sedley" said she"totorment the poor boy so."

"Mydear" said the cotton-tassel in defence of hisconduct"Jos is a great deal vainer than you ever werein yourlifeand that's saying a good deal.  Thoughsomethirtyyears agoin the year seventeen hundred andeighty--whatwas it?--perhaps you had a right to bevain--Idon't say no.  But I've no patience with Jos andhisdandified modesty.  It is out-Josephing Josephmy dearand allthe while the boy is only thinking of himselfand what afine fellow he is.  I doubtMa'amwe shallhave sometrouble with him yet.  Here is Emmy's littlefriendmaking love to him as hard as she can; that'squiteclear; and if she does not catch him some otherwill. That man is destined to be a prey to womanasI am to goon 'Change every day.  It's a mercy he didnot bringus over a black daughter-in-lawmy dear.  Butmark mywordsthe first woman who fishes for himhookshim."

"Sheshall go off to-morrowthe little artful creature"said Mrs.Sedleywith great energy.

"Whynot she as well as anotherMrs. Sedley? Thegirl's awhite face at any rate.  I don't care who marrieshim. Let Joe please himself."

Andpresently the voices of the two speakers werehushedorwere replaced by the gentle but unromanticmusic ofthe nose; and save when the church bellstolled thehour and the watchman called itall wassilent atthe house of John SedleyEsquireof RussellSquareand the Stock Exchange.

Whenmorning camethe good-natured Mrs. Sedley nolongerthought of executing her threats with regard toMissSharp; for though nothing is more keennor morecommonnor more justifiablethan maternal jealousyyet shecould not bring herself to suppose that the littlehumblegratefulgentle governess would dare to lookup to sucha magnificent personage as the Collector ofBoggleyWollah.  The petitiontoofor an extension ofthe younglady's leave of absence had already beendespatchedand it would be difficult to find a pretext forabruptlydismissing her.

And as ifall things conspired in favour of the gentleRebeccathe very elements (although she was notinclinedat first to acknowledge their action in her behalf)interposedto aid her.  For on the evening appointed fortheVauxhall partyGeorge Osborne having come todinnerand the elders of the house having departedaccordingto invitationto dine with Alderman Balls atHighburyBarnthere came on such a thunder-storm as onlyhappens onVauxhall nightsand as obliged the youngpeopleperforceto remain at home.  Mr. Osborne didnot seemin the least disappointed at this occurrence.He andJoseph Sedley drank a fitting quantity ofport-winetete-a-tetein the dining-roomduring thedrinkingof which Sedley told a number of his best Indianstories;for he was extremely talkative in man's society;andafterwards Miss Amelia Sedley did the honours ofthedrawing-room; and these four young persons passedsuch acomfortable evening togetherthat they declaredthey wererather glad of the thunder-storm thanotherwisewhich had caused them to put off theirvisit toVauxhall.

Osbornewas Sedley's godsonand had been one of thefamily anytime these three-and-twenty years.  At sixweeks oldhe had received from John Sedley a presentof asilver cup; at six months olda coral with goldwhistleand bells; from his youth upwards he was"tipped"regularly by the old gentleman at Christmas:and ongoing back to schoolhe remembered perfectlywell beingthrashed by Joseph Sedleywhen the latterwas a bigswaggering hobbadyhoyand George animpudenturchin of ten years old.  In a wordGeorge wasasfamiliar with the family as such daily acts ofkindnessand intercourse could make him.

"Doyou rememberSedleywhat a fury you were inwhen I cutoff the tassels of your Hessian bootsandhowMiss--hem!--how Amelia rescued me from abeatingby falling down on her knees and crying out toherbrother Josnot to beat little George?"

Josremembered this remarkable circumstanceperfectlywellbut vowed that he had totallyforgottenit.

"Welldo you remember coming down in a gig to Dr.Swishtail'sto see mebefore you went to Indiaandgiving mehalf a guinea and a pat on the head? I alwayshad anidea that you were at least seven feet highandwas quiteastonished at your return from India to findyou notaller than myself."

"Howgood of Mr. Sedley to go to your school andgive youthe money!" exclaimed Rebeccain accents ofextremedelight.

"Yesand after I had cut the tassels of his boots too.Boys neverforget those tips at schoolnor the givers."

"Idelight in Hessian boots" said Rebecca.  Jos Sedleywhoadmired his own legs prodigiouslyand alwayswore thisornamental chaussurewas extremely pleasedat thisremarkthough he drew his legs under his chairas it wasmade.

"MissSharp!" said George Osborne"you who areso cleveran artistyou must make a grand historicalpicture ofthe scene of the boots.  Sedley shall berepresentedin buckskinsand holding one of theinjuredboots in one hand; by the other he shall havehold of myshirt-frill.  Amelia shall be kneeling near himwith herlittle hands up; and the picture shall have agrandallegorical titleas the frontispieces have in theMedullaand the spelling-book."

"Ishan't have time to do it here" said Rebecca.  'I'lldo itwhen--when I'm gone." And she dropped her voiceand lookedso sad and piteousthat everybody felt howcruel herlot wasand how sorry they would be topart withher.

"Othat you could stay longerdear Rebecca" saidAmelia.

"Why?"answered the otherstill more sadly.  "ThatI may beonly the more unhap--unwilling to lose you?"And sheturned away her head.  Amelia began to giveway tothat natural infirmity of tears whichwe havesaidwasone of the defects of this silly little thing.  GeorgeOsbornelooked at the two young women with a touchedcuriosity;and Joseph Sedley heaved something very likea sigh outof his big chestas he cast his eyes downtowardshis favourite Hessian boots.

"Letus have some musicMiss Sedley--Amelia" saidGeorgewho felt at that moment an extraordinaryalmostirresistible impulse to seize the above-mentionedyoungwoman in his armsand to kiss her in the face ofthecompany; and she looked at him for a momentandif Ishould say that they fell in love with each other atthatsingle instant of timeI should perhaps be tellinganuntruthfor the fact is that these two young peoplehad beenbred up by their parents for this very purposeand theirbanns hadas it werebeen read in theirrespectivefamilies any time these ten years.  They wentoff to thepianowhich was situatedas pianos usuallyareinthe back drawing-room; and as it was rather darkMissAmeliain the most unaffected way in the worldput herhand into Mr. Osborne'swhoof coursecouldsee theway among the chairs and ottomans a great dealbetterthan she could.  But this arrangement left Mr.JosephSedley tete-a-tete with Rebeccaat thedrawing-roomtablewhere the latter was occupiedinknitting a green silk purse.

"Thereis no need to ask family secrets" said MissSharp. "Those two have told theirs."

"Assoon as he gets his company" said Joseph"Ibelievethe affair is settled.  George Osborne is a capitalfellow."

"Andyour sister the dearest creature in the world"saidRebecca.  "Happy the man who wins her!" WiththisMissSharp gave a great sigh.

When twounmarried persons get togetherand talkupon suchdelicate subjects as the presenta great dealofconfidence and intimacy is presently establishedbetweenthem.  There is no need of giving a special reportof theconversation which now took place between Mr.Sedley andthe young lady; for the conversationas maybe judgedfrom the foregoing specimenwas not especiallywitty oreloquent; it seldom is in private societiesoranywhereexcept in very high-flown and ingenious novels.As therewas music in the next roomthe talk wascarriedonof coursein a low and becoming tonethoughfor thematter of thatthe couple in the next apartmentwould nothave been disturbed had the talking been everso loudso occupied were they with their own pursuits.

Almost forthe first time in his lifeMr. Sedley foundhimselftalkingwithout the least timidity or hesitationto aperson of the other sex.  Miss Rebecca asked him agreatnumber of questions about Indiawhich gave himanopportunity of narrating many interesting anecdotesabout thatcountry and himself.  He described the ballsatGovernment Houseand the manner in which theykeptthemselves cool in the hot weatherwith punkahstattiesand other contrivances; and he was very wittyregardingthe number of Scotchmen whom Lord MintotheGovernor-Generalpatronised; and then he describedatiger-hunt; and the manner in which the mahout of hiselephanthad been pulled off his seat by one of theinfuriatedanimals.  How delighted Miss Rebecca was attheGovernment ballsand how she laughed at the storiesof theScotch aides-de-campand called Mr. Sedley asad wickedsatirical creature; and how frightened she wasJosephSedley tete-a-tete with Rebeccaat thedrawing-roomtablewhere the latter was occupiedinknitting a green silk purse.

"Thereis no need to ask family secrets" said MissSharp. "Those two have told theirs."

"Assoon as he gets his company" said Joseph"Ibelievethe affair is settled.  George Osborne is a capitalfellow."

"Andyour sister the dearest creature in the world"saidRebecca.  "Happy the man who wins her!" WiththisMissSharp gave a great sigh.

When twounmarried persons get togetherand talkupon suchdelicate subjects as the presenta great dealofconfidence and intimacy is presently establishedbetweenthem.  There is no need of giving a special reportof theconversation which now took place between Mr.Sedley andthe young lady; for the conversationas maybe judgedfrom the foregoing specimenwas not especiallywitty oreloquent; it seldom is in private societiesoranywhereexcept in very high-flown and ingenious novels.As therewas music in the next roomthe talk wascarriedonof coursein a low and becoming tonethoughfor thematter of thatthe couple in the next apartmentwould nothave been disturbed had the talking been everso loudso occupied were they with their own pursuits.

Almost forthe first time in his lifeMr. Sedley foundhimselftalkingwithout the least timidity or hesitationto aperson of the other sex.  Miss Rebecca asked him agreatnumber of questions about Indiawhich gave himanopportunity of narrating many interesting anecdotesabout thatcountry and himself.  He described the ballsatGovernment Houseand the manner in which theykeptthemselves cool in the hot weatherwith punkahstattiesand other contrivances; and he was very wittyregardingthe number of Scotchmen whom Lord MintotheGovernor-Generalpatronised; and then he describedatiger-hunt; and the manner in which the mahout of hiselephanthad been pulled off his seat by one of theinfuriatedanimals.  How delighted Miss Rebecca was attheGovernment ballsand how she laughed at the storiesof theScotch aides-de-campand called Mr. Sedley asad wickedsatirical creature; and how frightened she wasat thestory of the elephant! "For your mother's sakedear Mr.Sedley" she said"for the sake of all yourfriendspromise NEVER to go on one of those horridexpeditions."

"PoohpoohMiss Sharp" said hepulling up his shirt-collars;"the danger makes the sport only the pleasanter."He hadnever been but once at a tiger-huntwhen theaccidentin question occurredand when he was halfkilled--notby the tigerbut by the fright.  And as hetalked onhe grew quite boldand actually had theaudacityto ask Miss Rebecca for whom she wasknittingthe green silk purse? He was quite surprisedanddelighted at his own graceful familiar manner.

"Forany one who wants a purse" replied MissRebeccalooking at him in the most gentle winning way.Sedley wasgoing to make one of the most eloquentspeechespossibleand had begun--"O Miss Sharphow--"when some song which was performed in theother roomcame to an endand caused him to hearhis ownvoice so distinctly that he stoppedblushedandblew hisnose in great agitation.

"Didyou ever hear anything like your brother'seloquence?"whispered Mr. Osborne to Amelia.  "Whyyourfriend has worked miracles."

"Themore the better" said Miss Amelia; wholikealmost allwomen who are worth a pinwas a match-maker inher heartand would have been delighted thatJosephshould carry back a wife to India.  She hadtooin thecourse of this few days' constant intercoursewarmedinto a most tender friendship for Rebeccaanddiscovereda million of virtues and amiable qualities inher whichshe had not perceived when they were atChiswicktogether.  For the affection of young ladies isof asrapid growth as Jack's bean-stalkand reaches upto the skyin a night.  It is no blame to them that aftermarriagethis Sehnsucht nach der Liebe subsides.  It iswhatsentimentalistswho deal in very big wordscall ayearningafter the Idealand simply means that womenarecommonly not satisfied until they have husbandsandchildren on whom they may centre affectionswhichare spentelsewhereas it werein small change.

Havingexpended her little store of songsor havingstayedlong enough in the back drawing-roomit nowappearedproper to Miss Amelia to ask her friend tosing. "You would not have listened to me" she said toMr.Osborne (though she knew she was telling a fib)"hadyou heard Rebecca first."

"Igive Miss Sharp warningthough" said Osborne"thatright or wrongI consider Miss Amelia Sedleythe firstsinger in the world."

"Youshall hear" said Amelia; and Joseph Sedley wasactuallypolite enough to carry the candles to the piano.Osbornehinted that he should like quite as well to sitin thedark; but Miss Sedleylaughingdeclined to bearhimcompany any fartherand the two accordinglyfollowedMr. Joseph.  Rebecca sang far better than herfriend(though of course Osborne was free to keep hisopinion)and exerted herself to the utmostandindeedtothe wonder of Ameliawho had never knownherperform so well.  She sang a French songwhichJoseph didnot understand in the leastand which Georgeconfessedhe did not understandand then a number ofthosesimple ballads which were the fashion forty yearsagoandin which British tarsour Kingpoor Susanblue-eyedMaryand the likewere the principal themes.They arenotit is saidvery brilliantin a musical pointof viewbut contain numberless good-naturedsimpleappeals tothe affectionswhich people understood betterthan themilk-and-water lagrimesospiriand felicitaof theeternal Donizettian music with which we arefavourednow-a-days.

Conversationof a sentimental sortbefitting thesubjectwas carried on between the songsto whichSamboafter he had brought the teathe delighted cookand evenMrs. Blenkinsopthe housekeepercondescendedto listenon the landing-place.

Amongthese ditties was onethe last of the concertand to thefollowing effect:

Ah!bleak and barren was the moorAh!loud and piercing was the stormThecottage roof was shelter'd sureThecottage hearth was bright and warm--Anorphan boy the lattice pass'dAndashe mark'd its cheerful glowFeltdoubly keen the midnight blastAnddoubly cold the fallen snow.  Theymark'd him as he onward prestWithfainting heart and weary limb;Kindvoices bade him turn and restAndgentle faces welcomed him.Thedawn is up--the guest is goneThecottage hearth is blazing still;Heavenpity all poor wanderers lone!Hark tothe wind upon the hill!

It was thesentiment of the before-mentioned words"WhenI'm gone" over again.  As she came to the lastwordsMiss Sharp's "deep-toned voice faltered."Everybodyfelt the allusion to her departureand to herhaplessorphan state.  Joseph Sedleywho was fond of musicandsoft-heartedwas in a state of ravishment during theperformanceof the songand profoundly touched at itsconclusion. If he had had the courage; if George and MissSedley hadremainedaccording to the former's proposalin thefarther roomJoseph Sedley's bachelorhood wouldhave beenat an endand this work would never havebeenwritten.  But at the close of the dittyRebecca quittedthe pianoand giving her hand to Ameliawalked awayinto thefront drawing-room twilight; andat thismomentMr. Sambo made his appearance with a traycontainingsandwichesjelliesand some glittering glassesanddecanterson which Joseph Sedley's attention wasimmediatelyfixed.  When the parents of the house of Sedleyreturnedfrom their dinner-partythey found the youngpeople sobusy in talkingthat they had not heard thearrival ofthe carriageand Mr. Joseph was in the act ofsaying"My dear Miss Sharpone little teaspoonful ofjelly torecruit you after your immense--your--yourdelightfulexertions."

"BravoJos!" said Mr. Sedley; on hearing the banteringof whichwell-known voiceJos instantly relapsedinto analarmed silenceand quickly took his departure.He did notlie awake all night thinking whether or not hewas inlove with Miss Sharp; the passion of love neverinterferedwith the appetite or the slumber of Mr. JosephSedley;but he thought to himself how delightful it wouldbe to hearsuch songs as those after Cutcherry--what adistingueegirl she was--how she could speak Frenchbetterthan the Governor-General's lady herself--andwhat asensation she would make at the Calcutta balls."It'sevident the poor devil's in love with me" thoughthe. "She is just as rich as most of the girls who comeout toIndia.  I might go fartherand fare worseegad!"And inthese meditations he fell asleep.

How MissSharp lay awakethinkingwill he come ornotto-morrow? need not be told here.  To-morrow cameandassure as fateMr. Joseph Sedley made hisappearancebefore luncheon.  He had never been knownbefore toconfer such an honour on Russell Square.  GeorgeOsbornewas somehow there already (sadly "putting out"Ameliawho was writing to her twelve dearest friends atChiswickMall)and Rebecca was employed upon heryesterday'swork.  As Joe's buggy drove upand whileafterhis usualthundering knock and pompous bustle at thedoortheex-Collector of Boggley Wollah laboured upstairs tothe drawing-roomknowing glances weretelegraphedbetween Osborne and Miss Sedleyand the pairsmilingarchlylooked at Rebeccawho actually blushedas shebent her fair ringlets over her knitting.  How herheart beatas Joseph appeared--Josephpuffing from thestaircasein shining creaking boots--Josephin a newwaistcoatred with heat and nervousnessand blushingbehind hiswadded neckcloth.  It was a nervous momentfor all;and as for AmeliaI think she was more frightenedthan eventhe people most concerned.

Sambowhoflung open the door and announced Mr.Josephfollowed grinningin the Collector's rearandbearingtwo handsome nosegays of flowerswhich themonsterhad actually had the gallantry to purchase inCoventGarden Market that morning--they were not asbig as thehaystacks which ladies carry about with themnow-a-daysin cones of filigree paper; but the youngwomen weredelighted with the giftas Joseph presentedone toeachwith an exceedingly solemn bow.

"BravoJos!" cried Osborne.

"Thankyoudear Joseph" said Ameliaquite ready tokiss herbrotherif he were so minded.  (And I think fora kissfrom such a dear creature as AmeliaI wouldpurchaseall Mr. Lee's conservatories out of hand.)

"Oheavenlyheavenly flowers!" exclaimed Miss Sharpand smeltthem delicatelyand held them to her bosomand castup her eyes to the ceilingin an ecstasy ofadmiration. Perhaps she just looked first into the bouquetto seewhether there was a billet-doux hidden among theflowers;but there was no letter.

"Dothey talk the language of flowers at BoggleyWollahSedley?" asked Osbornelaughing.

"Poohnonsense!" replied the sentimental youth."Bought'em at Nathan's; very glad you like 'em; and ehAmeliamydearI bought a pine-apple at the sametimewhich I gave to Sambo.  Let's have it for tiffin;very cooland nice this hot weather." Rebecca said shehad nevertasted a pineand longed beyond everythingto tasteone.

So theconversation went on.  I don't know on whatpretextOsborne left the roomor whypresentlyAmeliawent awayperhaps to superintend the slicing of thepine-apple;but Jos was left alone with Rebeccawho hadresumedher workand the green silk and the shiningneedleswere quivering rapidly under her white slenderfingers.

"Whata beautifulBYOO-OOTIFUL song that was you sanglastnightdear Miss Sharp" said the Collector.  "It mademe cryalmost; 'pon my honour it did."

"Becauseyou have a kind heartMr. Joseph; all theSedleyshaveI think."

"Itkept me awake last nightand I was trying to humit thismorningin bed; I wasupon my honour.  Gollopmy doctorcame in at eleven (for I'm a sad invalidyouknowandsee Gollop every day)and'gad! there Iwassinging away like--a robin."

"Oyou droll creature! Do let me hear you sing it."

"Me?NoyouMiss Sharp; my dear Miss Sharpdosing it.

"NotnowMr. Sedley" said Rebeccawith a sigh.  "Myspiritsare not equal to it; besidesI must finish thepurse. Will you help meMr. Sedley?" And before he hadtime toask howMr. Joseph Sedleyof the East IndiaCompany'sservicewas actually seated tete-a-tete witha youngladylooking at her with a most killing expression;his armsstretched out before her in an imploring attitudeand hishands bound in a web of green silkwhich shewasunwinding.

In thisromantic position Osborne and Amelia foundtheinteresting pairwhen they entered to announce thattiffin wasready.  The skein of silk was just wound roundthe card;but Mr. Jos had never spoken.

"I amsure he will to-nightdear" Amelia saidas shepressedRebecca's hand; and Sedleytoohad communedwith hissouland said to himself" 'GadI'll pop thequestionat Vauxhall."

CHAPTER VDobbinof Ours

Cuff'sfight with Dobbinand the unexpected issue ofthatcontestwill long be remembered by every man whowaseducated at Dr. Swishtail's famous school.  The latterYouth (whoused to be called Heigh-ho DobbinGee-hoDobbinand by many other names indicative of puerilecontempt)was the quietestthe clumsiestandas itseemedthe dullest of all Dr. Swishtail's young gentlemen.His parentwas a grocer in the city: and it was bruitedabroadthat he was admitted into Dr. Swishtail's academyupon whatare called "mutual principles"--that is tosaytheexpenses of his board and schooling weredefrayedby his father in goodsnot money; and hestoodthere--most at the bottom of the school--in hisscraggycorduroys and jacketthrough the seams ofwhich hisgreat big bones were bursting--as therepresentativeof so many pounds of teacandlessugarmottled-soapplums (of which a very mildproportionwas supplied for the puddings of theestablishment)and other commodities.  A dreadfulday it wasfor young Dobbin when one of theyoungstersof the schoolhaving run into the town upona poachingexcursion for hardbake and poloniesespiedthe cartof Dobbin & RudgeGrocers and OilmenThamesStreetLondonat the Doctor's doordischarging a cargoof thewares in which the firm dealt.

YoungDobbin had no peace after that.  The jokes werefrightfuland merciless against him.  "HulloDobbin" onewag wouldsay"here's good news in the paper.  Sugarsis ris'my boy." Another would set a sum--"If a poundofmutton-candles cost sevenpence-halfpennyhow muchmustDobbin cost?" and a roar would follow from all thecircle ofyoung knavesusher and allwho rightlyconsideredthat the selling of goods by retail is a shamefulandinfamous practicemeriting the contempt and scornof allreal gentlemen.

"Yourfather's only a merchantOsborne" Dobbin saidin privateto the little boy who had brought down thestorm uponhim.  At which the latter replied haughtily"Myfather's a gentlemanand keeps his carriage"; andMr.William Dobbin retreated to a remote outhouse intheplaygroundwhere he passed a half-holiday in thebitterestsadness and woe.  Who amongst us is there thatdoes notrecollect similar hours of bitterbitter childishgrief? Whofeels injustice; who shrinks before a slight;who has asense of wrong so acuteand so glowing agratitudefor kindnessas a generous boy? and how manyof thosegentle souls do you degradeestrangetorturefor thesake of a little loose arithmeticand miserabledog-latin?

NowWilliam Dobbinfrom an incapacity to acquiretherudiments of the above languageas they arepropoundedin that wonderful book the Eton Latin Grammarwascompelled to remain among the very last of DoctorSwishtail'sscholarsand was "taken down" continually bylittlefellows with pink faces and pinafores when hemarched upwith the lower forma giant amongst themwith hisdowncaststupefied lookhis dog's-eared primerand histight corduroys.  High and lowall made fun ofhim. They sewed up those corduroystight as they were.They cuthis bed-strings.  They upset buckets and benchesso that hemight break his shins over themwhich heneverfailed to do.  They sent him parcelswhichwhen                                  openedwere found to contain the paternal soap andcandles. There was no little fellow but had his jeer andjoke atDobbin; and he bore everything quite patientlyand wasentirely dumb and miserable.

Cuffonthe contrarywas the great chief and dandy oftheSwishtail Seminary.  He smuggled wine in.  He foughtthetown-boys.  Ponies used to come for him to ride homeonSaturdays.  He had his top-boots in his roomin whichhe used tohunt in the holidays.  He had a gold repeater:and tooksnuff like the Doctor.  He had been to the Operaand knewthe merits of the principal actorspreferringMr. Keanto Mr. Kemble.  He could knock you off fortyLatinverses in an hour.  He could make French poetry.What elsedidn't he knowor couldn't he do? They saideven theDoctor himself was afraid of him.

Cufftheunquestioned king of the schoolruled overhissubjectsand bullied themwith splendid superiority.This oneblacked his shoes: that toasted his breadotherswould fagoutand give him balls at cricket during wholesummerafternoons.  "Figs" was the fellow whom hedespisedmostand with whomthough always abusing himandsneering at himhe scarcely ever condescended toholdpersonal communication.

One day inprivatethe two young gentlemen had hadadifference.  Figsalone in the schoolroomwasblunderingover a home letter; when Cuffenteringbade himgo upon some messageof which tarts wereprobablythe subject.

"Ican't" says Dobbin; "I want to finish my letter."

"YouCAN'T?" says Mr. Cufflaying hold of thatdocument(in which many words were scratched outmany weremis-spelton which had been spent I don'tknow howmuch thoughtand labourand tears; for thepoorfellow was writing to his motherwho was fond ofhimalthough she was a grocer's wifeand lived in a backparlour inThames Street).  "You CAN'T?" says Mr. Cuff:"Ishould like to know whypray? Can't you write to oldMotherFigs to-morrow?"

"Don'tcall names" Dobbin saidgetting off the benchverynervous.

"Wellsirwill you go?" crowed the cock of the school.

"Putdown the letter" Dobbin replied; "no gentlemanreadthletterth."

"WellNOW will you go?" says the other.

"NoI won't.  Don't strikeor I'll THMASH you" roarsoutDobbinspringing to a leaden inkstandand lookingso wickedthat Mr. Cuff pausedturned down his coatsleevesagainput his hands into his pocketsand walkedaway witha sneer.  But he never meddled.personally withthegrocer's boy after that; though we must do him thejustice tosay he always spoke of Mr. Dobbin with con-temptbehind his back.

Some timeafter this interviewit happened that Mr.Cuffon asunshiny afternoonwas in the neighbourhoodof poorWilliam Dobbinwho was lying under a tree intheplaygroundspelling over a favourite copy of theArabianNights which he had apart from the rest of theschoolwho were pursuing their various sports--quitelonelyand almost happy.  If people would but leavechildrento themselves; if teachers would cease to bullythem; ifparents would not insist upon directing theirthoughtsand dominating their feelings--those feelingsandthoughts which are a mystery to all (for how muchdo you andI know of each otherof our childrenof ourfathersof our neighbourand how far more beautiful andsacred arethe thoughts of the poor lad or girl whom yougovernlikely to bethan those of the dull and world-corruptedperson who rules him?)--ifI sayparents andmasterswould leave their children alone a little moresmall harmwould accruealthough a less quantity ofas inpraesenti might be acquired.

WellWilliam Dobbin had for once forgotten the worldand wasaway with Sindbad the Sailor in the Valley ofDiamondsor with Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Peribanouin thatdelightful cavern where the Prince found herandwhither weshould all like to make a tour; when shrillcriesasof a little fellow weepingwoke up his pleasantreverie;and looking uphe saw Cuff before himbelabouringa little boy.

It was thelad who had peached upon him about thegrocer'scart; but he bore little malicenot at leasttowardsthe young and small.  "How dare yousirbreakthebottle?" says Cuff to the little urchinswinging ayellowcricket-stump over him.

The boyhad been instructed to get over the playgroundwall (at aselected spot where the broken glass had beenremovedfrom the topand niches made convenient inthebrick); to run a quarter of a mile; to purchase a pintofrum-shrub on credit; to brave all the Doctor's outlyingspiesandto clamber back into the playground again;during theperformance of which feathis foot had sliptand thebottle was brokenand the shrub had been spiltand hispantaloons had been damagedand he appearedbefore hisemployer a perfectly guilty and tremblingthoughharmlesswretch.

"Howdare yousirbreak it?" says Cuff; "you blunderinglittlethief.  You drank the shruband now you pretendto havebroken the bottle.  Hold out your handsir."

Down camethe stump with a great heavy thump onthechild's hand.  A moan followed.  Dobbin looked up.The FairyPeribanou had fled into the inmost cavernwithPrince Ahmed: the Roc had whisked away Sindbadthe Sailorout of the Valley of Diamonds out of sightfarinto theclouds: and there was everyday life beforehonestWilliam; and a big boy beating a little onewithoutcause.

"Holdout your other handsir" roars Cuff to his littleschoolfellowwhose face was distorted with pain.Dobbinquiveredand gathered himself up in his narrow oldclothes.

"Takethatyou little devil!" cried Mr. Cuffand downcame thewicket again on the child's hand.--Don't behorrifiedladiesevery boy at a public school has done it.Yourchildren will so do and be done byin allprobability. Down came the wicket again; and Dobbinstartedup. I can'ttell what his motive was.  Torture in a publicschool isas much licensed as the knout in Russia.  Itwould beungentlemanlike (in a manner) to resist it.PerhapsDobbin's foolish soul revolted against that exerciseoftyranny; or perhaps he had a hankering feeling ofrevenge inhis mindand longed to measure himselfagainstthat splendid bully and tyrantwho had all theglorypridepompcircumstancebanners flyingdrumsbeatingguards salutingin the place.  Whatever may havebeen hisincentivehoweverup he sprangand screamedout"HoldoffCuff; don't bully that child any more; orI'll--"

"Oryou'll what?" Cuff asked in amazement at thisinterruption. "Hold out your handyou little beast."

"I'llgive you the worst thrashing you ever had in yourlife"Dobbin saidin reply to the first part of Cuff'ssentence;and little Osbornegasping and in tearslookedup withwonder and incredulity at seeing this amazingchampionput up suddenly to defend him: while Cuff'sastonishmentwas scarcely less.  Fancy our late monarchGeorge IIIwhen he heard of the revolt of the NorthAmericancolonies: fancy brazen Goliath when littleDavidstepped forward and claimed a meeting; and youhave thefeelings of Mr. Reginald Cuff when thisrencontrewas proposed to him.

"Afterschool" says heof course; after a pause and alookasmuch as to say"Make your willandcommunicateyour last wishes to your friendsbetweenthis time and that."

"Asyou please" Dobbin said.  "You must be my bottleholderOsborne."

"Wellif you like" little Osborne replied; for you seehis papakept a carriageand he was rather ashamed ofhischampion.

Yeswhenthe hour of battle camehe was almostashamed tosay"Go itFigs"; and not a single other boyin theplace uttered that cry for the first two or threerounds ofthis famous combat; at the commencement ofwhich thescientific Cuffwith a contemptuous smile onhis faceand as light and as gay as if he was at a ballplantedhis blows upon his adversaryand floored thatunluckychampion three times running.  At each fall therewas acheer; and everybody was anxious to have thehonour ofoffering the conqueror a knee.

"Whata licking I shall get when it's over" youngOsbornethoughtpicking up his man.  "You'd best give in"he said toDobbin; "it's only a thrashingFigsand youknow I'mused to it." But Figsall whose limbs were in aquiverand whose nostrils were breathing rageput hislittlebottle-holder asideand went in for a fourth time. As he didnot in the least know how to parry the blowsthat wereaimed at himselfand Cuff had begun theattack onthe three preceding occasionswithout everallowinghis enemy to strikeFigs now determined that hewouldcommence the engagement by a charge on his ownpart; andaccordinglybeing a left-handed manbroughtthat arminto actionand hit out a couple of times withall hismight--once at Mr. Cuff's left eyeand once on hisbeautifulRoman nose. Cuff wentdown this timeto the astonishment of theassembly. "Well hitby Jove" says little Osbornewiththe air ofa connoisseurclapping his man on the back."Giveit him with the leftFigs my boy." Figs'sleft made terrific play during all the rest of thecombat. Cuff went down every time.  At the sixth roundthere werealmost as many fellows shouting out"Go itFigs"as there were youths exclaiming"Go itCuff." Atthetwelfth round the latter champion was all abroadasthe sayingisand had lost all presence of mind and powerof attackor defence.  Figson the contrarywas as calmas aquaker.  His face being quite palehis eyes shiningopenanda great cut on his underlip bleeding profuselygave thisyoung fellow a fierce and ghastly airwhichperhapsstruck terror into many spectators.  Neverthelesshisintrepid adversary prepared to close for thethirteenthtime. If I hadthe pen of a Napieror a Bell's LifeI shouldlike todescribe this combat properly.  It was the lastcharge ofthe Guard--(that isit would have beenonlyWaterloohad not yet taken place)--it was Ney's columnbreastingthe hill of La Haye Saintebristling with tenthousandbayonetsand crowned with twenty eagles--itwas theshout of the beef-eating Britishas leaping downthe hillthey rushed to hug the enemy in the savage armsofbattle--in other wordsCuff coming up full of pluckbut quitereeling and groggythe Fig-merchant put in hisleft asusual on his adversary's noseand sent him downfor thelast time.

"Ithink that will do for him" Figs saidas his opponentdropped asneatly on the green as I have seen JackSpot'sball plump into the pocket at billiards; and thefact iswhen time was calledMr. Reginald Cuff was notableordid not chooseto stand up again.

And nowall the boys set up such a shout for Figs aswould havemade you think he had been their darlingchampionthrough the whole battle; and as absolutelybroughtDr. Swishtail out of his studycurious to knowthe causeof the uproar.  He threatened to flog Figsviolentlyof course; but Cuffwho had come to himselfby thistimeand was washing his woundsstood up andsaid"It's my faultsir--not Figs'--not Dobbin's.  I wasbullying alittle boy; and he served me right." By whichmagnanimousspeech he not only saved his conqueror awhippingbut got back all his ascendancy over the boyswhich hisdefeat had nearly cost him.

YoungOsborne wrote home to his parents an accountof thetransaction.

SugarcaneHouseRichmondMarch18--

DEARMAMA--I hope you are quite well.  I should bemuchobliged to you to send me a cake and five shillings.There hasbeen a fight here between Cuff & Dobbin.Cuffyouknowwas the Cock of the School.  Theyfoughtthirteen roundsand Dobbin Licked.  So Cuff isnow OnlySecond Cock.  The fight was about me.  Cuffwaslicking me for breaking a bottle of milkand Figswouldn'tstand it.  We call him Figs because his father isaGrocer--Figs & RudgeThames St.City--I think ashe foughtfor me you ought to buy your Tea & Sugarat hisfather's.  Cuff goes home every Saturdaybut can'tthisbecause he has 2 Black Eyes.  He has a white Ponyto comeand fetch himand a groom in livery on a baymare. I wish my Papa would let me have a Ponyand Iam

Yourdutiful SonGEORGESEDLEY OSBORNE

 P.S.--Give my love to little Emmy.  I am cutting herout aCoach in cardboard.  Please not a seed-cakebut aplum-cake.

Inconsequence of Dobbin's victoryhis character roseprodigiouslyin the estimation of all his schoolfellowsandthe nameof Figswhich had been a byword of reproachbecame asrespectable and popular a nickname as anyother inuse in the school.  "After allit's not his faultthat hisfather's a grocer" George Osborne saidwhothough alittle chaphad a very high popularity amongtheSwishtail youth; and his opinion was received withgreatapplause.  It was voted low to sneer at Dobbinabout thisaccident of birth.  "Old Figs" grew to be aname ofkindness and endearment; and the sneak of anusherjeered at him no longer.

AndDobbin's spirit rose with his altered circumstances.He madewonderful advances in scholastic learning.  ThesuperbCuff himselfat whose condescension Dobbincould onlyblush and wonderhelped him on with hisLatinverses; "coached" him in play-hours: carried himtriumphantlyout of the little-boy class into the middle-sizedform; and even there got a fair place for him.  Itwasdiscoveredthat although dull at classical learningatmathematics he was uncommonly quick.  To thecontentmentof all he passed third in algebraand got aFrenchprize-book at the public Midsummer examination.You shouldhave seen his mother's face when Telemaque(thatdelicious romance) was presented to him bythe Doctorin the face of the whole school and the parentsandcompanywith an inscription to Gulielmo Dobbin.  Allthe boysclapped hands in token of applause andsympathy. His blusheshis stumbleshis awkwardnessandthe numberof feet which he crushed as he went back tohis placewho shall describe or calculate? Old Dobbinhisfatherwho now respected him for the first timegavehim twoguineas publicly; most of which he spent in ageneraltuck-out for the school: and he came back in atail-coatafter the holidays.

Dobbin wasmuch too modest a young fellow tosupposethat this happy change in all his circumstancesarose fromhis own generous and manly disposition: hechosefrom some perversenessto attribute his goodfortune tothe sole agency and benevolence of little GeorgeOsborneto whom henceforth he vowed such a love andaffectionas is only felt by children--such an affectionaswe read inthe charming fairy-bookuncouth Orson hadforsplendid young Valentine his conqueror.  He flunghimselfdown at little Osborne's feetand loved him.Evenbefore they were acquaintedhe had admiredOsborne insecret.  Now he was his valethis doghis manFriday. He believed Osborne to be the possessor ofeveryperfectionto be the handsomestthe bravestthemostactivethe cleverestthe most generous of createdboys. He shared his money with him: bought himuncountablepresents of knivespencil-casesgold sealstoffeeLittle Warblersand romantic bookswith largecolouredpictures of knights and robbersin many of whichlatter youmight read inscriptions to George SedleyOsborneEsquirefrom his attached friend William Dobbin--thewhich tokens of homage George received verygraciouslyas became his superior merit.

So thatLieutenant Osbornewhen coming to RussellSquare onthe day of the Vauxhall partysaid to theladies"Mrs. SedleyMa'amI hope you have room; I'veaskedDobbin of ours to come and dine hereand go withus toVauxhall.  He's almost as modest as Jos."

"Modesty!pooh" said the stout gentlemancasting avainqueurlook at Miss Sharp.

"Heis--but you are incomparably more gracefulSedley"Osborne addedlaughing.  "I met him at theBedfordwhen I went to look for you; and I told him thatMissAmelia was come homeand that we were all benton goingout for a night's pleasuring; and that Mrs. Sedleyhadforgiven his breaking the punch-bowl at the child'sparty. Don't you remember the catastropheMa'amsevenyearsago?"

"OverMrs. Flamingo's crimson silk gown" said good-naturedMrs. Sedley.  "What a gawky it was! And hissistersare not much more graceful.  Lady Dobbin was atHighburylast night with three of them.  Such figures! mydears."

"TheAlderman's very richisn't he?" Osborne saidarchly. "Don't you think one of the daughters would be agood specfor meMa'am?"

"Youfoolish creature! Who would take youI shouldlike toknowwith your yellow face?"

"Minea yellow face? Stop till you see Dobbin.  Whyhehad theyellow fever three times; twice at Nassauandonce atSt. Kitts."

"Wellwell; yours is quite yellow enough for us.  Isn'titEmmy?"Mrs. Sedley said: at which speech MissAmeliaonly made a smile and a blush; and looking at Mr.GeorgeOsborne's pale interesting countenanceand thosebeautifulblackcurlingshining whiskerswhich the younggentlemanhimself regarded with no ordinarycomplacencyshe thought in her little heart that inHisMajesty's armyor in the wide worldthere neverwas such aface or such a hero.  "I don't care about CaptainDobbin'scomplexion" she said"or about his awkwardness.I shallalways like himI know" her little reason beingthat hewas the friend and champion of George.

"There'snot a finer fellow in the service" Osbornesaid"nora better officerthough he is not an Adoniscertainly."And he looked towards the glass himself withmuchnaivete; and in so doingcaught Miss Sharp's eyefixedkeenly upon himat which he blushed a littleandRebeccathought in her heart"Ahmon beau Monsieur!I think Ihave YOUR gauge"--the little artful minx!

Thateveningwhen Amelia came tripping into thedrawing-roomin a white muslin frockprepared forconquestat Vauxhallsinging like a larkand as fresh as arose--avery tall ungainly gentlemanwith large handsand feetand large earsset off by a closely cropped headof blackhairand in the hideous military frogged coatand cockedhat of those timesadvanced to meet herandmade herone of the clumsiest bows that was everperformedby a mortal.

This wasno other than Captain William DobbinofHisMajesty's Regiment of Footreturned fromyellowfeverin the West Indiesto which the fortuneof theservice had ordered his regimentwhilst so manyof hisgallant comrades were reaping glory in the Peninsula.

He hadarrived with a knock so very timid and quietthat itwas inaudible to the ladies upstairs: otherwiseyoumay besure Miss Amelia would never have been so boldas to comesinging into the room.  As it wasthe sweetfreshlittle voice went right into the Captain's heartandnestledthere.  When she held out her hand for him toshakebefore he enveloped it in his ownhe pausedandthought--"Wellis it possible--are you the little maid Irememberin the pink frocksuch a short time ago--thenight Iupset the punch-bowljust after I was gazetted?Are youthe little girl that George Osborne said shouldmarryhim?  What a blooming young creature you seemand what aprize the rogue has got!" All this he thoughtbefore hetook Amelia's hand into his ownand as he lethis cockedhat fall.

Hishistory since he left schooluntil the very momentwhen wehave the pleasure of meeting him againalthoughnot fullynarratedhas yetI thinkbeen indicatedsufficientlyfor an ingenious reader by the conversationin thelast page.  Dobbinthe despised grocerwas AldermanDobbin--AldermanDobbin was Colonel of the City LightHorsethen burning with military ardour to resist theFrenchInvasion.  Colonel Dobbin's corpsin which oldMr.Osborne himself was but an indifferent corporalhadbeenreviewed by the Sovereign and the Duke of York;and thecolonel and alderman had been knighted.  Hisson hadentered the army: and young Osborne followedpresentlyin the same regiment.  They had served in theWestIndies and in Canada.  Their regiment had just comehomeandthe attachment of Dobbin to George Osbornewas aswarm and generous now as it had been when thetwo wereschoolboys.

So theseworthy people sat down to dinner presently.Theytalked about war and gloryand Boney and LordWellingtonand the last Gazette.  In those famous dayseverygazette had a victory in itand the two gallant youngmen longedto see their own names in the glorious listand cursedtheir unlucky fate to belong to a regimentwhich hadbeen away from the chances of honour.  MissSharpkindled with this exciting talkbut Miss Sedleytrembledand grew quite faint as she heard it.  Mr. Jostoldseveral of his tiger-hunting storiesfinished the oneabout MissCutler and Lance the surgeon; helpedRebecca toeverything on the tableand himself gobbledand dranka great deal.

He sprangto open the door for the ladieswhen theyretiredwith the most killing grace--and coming back tothe tablefilled himself bumper after bumper of claretwhich heswallowed with nervous rapidity.

"He'spriming himself" Osborne whispered to Dobbinand atlength the hour and the carriage arrivedforVauxhall.

CHAPTER VIVauxhall

I knowthat the tune I am piping is a very mildone(although there are some terrific chapterscomingpresently)and must beg the good-naturedreader toremember that we are only discoursingat presentabout a stockbroker's family in RussellSquarewho are taking walksor luncheonor dinneror talkingand making love as people do in common lifeandwithout a single passionate and wonderfulincidentto mark the progress of their loves.  Theargumentstands thus--Osbornein love with Ameliahas askedan old friend to dinner and to Vauxhall--JosSedley isin love with Rebecca.  Will he marry her?That isthe great subject now in hand.

We mighthave treated this subject in the genteelor intheromanticor in the facetious manner.  Suppose we hadlaid thescene in Grosvenor Squarewith the very sameadventures--wouldnot some people have listened?Suppose wehad shown how Lord Joseph Sedley fell in loveand theMarquis of Osborne became attached to LadyAmeliawith the full consent of the Dukeher noblefather: orinstead of the supremely genteelsuppose wehadresorted to the entirely lowand described what wasgoing onin Mr. Sedley's kitchen--how black Sambo wasin lovewith the cook (as indeed he was)and how hefought abattle with the coachman in her behalf; how theknife-boywas caught stealing a cold shoulder of muttonand MissSedley's new femme de chambre refused to goto bedwithout a wax candle; such incidents might bemade toprovoke much delightful laughterand besupposedto represent scenes of "life." Or ifon the contrarywe hadtaken a fancy for the terribleand made the loverof the newfemme de chambre a professional burglarwhoburstsinto the house with his bandslaughters blackSambo atthe feet of his masterand carries off Amelia inhernight-dressnot to be let loose again till the thirdvolumeweshould easily have constructed a tale ofthrillinginterestthrough the fiery chapters of which thereadershould hurrypanting.  But my readers must hopefor nosuch romanceonly a homely storyand must becontentwith a chapter about Vauxhallwhich is so shortthat itscarce deserves to be called a chapter at all.  Andyet it isa chapterand a very important one too.  Are nottherelittle chapters in everybody's lifethat seem to benothingand yet affect all the rest of the history?

Let usthen step into the coach with the Russell Squarepartyandbe off to the Gardens.  There is barely roombetweenJos and Miss Sharpwho are on the front seat.  Mr.Osbornesitting bodkin oppositebetween Captain DobbinandAmelia.

Every soulin the coach agreed that on that night Joswouldpropose to make Rebecca Sharp Mrs. Sedley.  Theparents athome had acquiesced in the arrangementthoughbetween ourselvesold Mr. Sedley had a feelingvery muchakin to contempt for his son.  He said he wasvainselfishlazyand effeminate.  He could not endure hisairs as aman of fashionand laughed heartily at hispompousbraggadocio stories.  "I shall leave the fellow halfmyproperty" he said; "and he will havebesidesplentyof hisown; but as I am perfectly sure that if youand Iand hissister were to die to-morrowhe would say 'GoodGad!' andeat his dinner just as well as usualI am notgoing tomake myself anxious about him.  Let him marrywhom helikes.  It's no affair of mine."

Ameliaonthe other handas became a young womanof herprudence and temperamentwas quite enthusiasticfor thematch.  Once or twice Jos had been on the pointof sayingsomething very important to herto which shewas mostwilling to lend an earbut the fat fellow couldnot bebrought to unbosom himself of his great secretand verymuch to his sister's disappointment he only ridhimself ofa large sigh and turned away.

Thismystery served to keep Amelia's gentle bosom in aperpetualflutter of excitement.  If she did not speak withRebecca onthe tender subjectshe compensated herselfwith longand intimate conversations with Mrs. Blenkinsopthehousekeeperwho dropped some hints to thelady's-maidwho may have cursorily mentioned the matterto thecookwho carried the newsI have no doubtto allthetradesmenso that Mr. Jos's marriage was now talkedof by avery considerable number of persons in theRussellSquare world.

It wasofcourseMrs. Sedley's opinion that her sonwoulddemean himself by a marriage with an artist'sdaughter. "Butlor'Ma'am" ejaculated Mrs. Blenkinsop"wewas only grocers when we married Mr. S.whowas astock-broker's clerkand we hadn't five hundredpoundsamong usand we're rich enough now." AndAmelia wasentirely of this opinionto whichgraduallythegood-natured Mrs. Sedley was brought.

Mr. Sedleywas neutral.  "Let Jos marry whom he likes"he said;"it's no affair of mine.  This girl has no fortune;no morehad Mrs. Sedley.  She seems good-humoured andcleverand will keep him in orderperhaps.  Better shemy dearthan a black Mrs. Sedleyand a dozen ofmahoganygrandchildren."

So thateverything seemed to smile upon Rebecca'sfortunes. She took Jos's armas a matter of courseon goingto dinner;she had sate by him on the box of his opencarriage(a most tremendous "buck" he wasas he satthereserenein statedriving his greys)and thoughnobodysaid a word on the subject of the marriageeverybodyseemed to understand it.  All she wanted wastheproposaland ah! how Rebecca now felt the want of amother!--adeartender motherwho would have managedthebusiness in ten minutesandin the course of a littledelicateconfidential conversationwould have extractedtheinteresting avowal from the bashful lips of the youngman!

Such wasthe state of affairs as the carriage crossedWestminsterbridge.

The partywas landed at the Royal Gardens in due time.As themajestic Jos stepped out of the creaking vehiclethe crowdgave a cheer for the fat gentlemanwho blushedand lookedvery big and mightyas he walked away withRebeccaunder his arm.  Georgeof coursetook charge ofAmelia. She looked as happy as a rose-tree in sunshine.

"IsayDobbin" says George"just look to the shawlsandthingsthere's a good fellow." And so while he pairedoff withMiss Sedleyand Jos squeezed through the gateinto thegardens with Rebecca at his sidehonest Dobbincontentedhimself by giving an arm to the shawlsand bypaying atthe door for the whole party.

He walkedvery modestly behind them.  He was notwilling tospoil sport.  About Rebecca and Jos he did notcare afig.  But he thought Amelia worthy even of thebrilliantGeorge Osborneand as he saw that good-lookingcouplethreading the walks to the girl's delight andwonderhewatched her artless happiness with a sort offatherlypleasure.  Perhaps he felt that he would have likedto havesomething on his own arm besides a shawl (thepeoplelaughed at seeing the gawky young officer carryingthisfemale burthen); but William Dobbin was very littleaddictedto selfish calculation at all; and so long as hisfriend wasenjoying himselfhow should he be discontented?And thetruth isthat of all the delights of theGardens;of the hundred thousand extra lampswhichwerealways lighted; the fiddlers in cocked hatswhoplayedravishing melodies under the gilded cockle-shell inthe midstof the gardens; the singersboth of comic andsentimentalballadswho charmed the ears there; thecountrydancesformed by bouncing cockneys andcockneyessesand executed amidst jumpingthumping andlaughter;the signal which announced that Madame Saquiwas aboutto mount skyward on a slack-rope ascendingto thestars; the hermit that always sat in the illuminatedhermitage;the dark walksso favourable to the interviewsof younglovers; the pots of stout handed about by thepeople inthe shabby old liveries; and the twinkling boxesin whichthe happy feasters made-believe to eat slices ofalmostinvisible ham--of all these thingsand of thegentleSimpsonthat kind smiling idiotwhoI daresaypresidedeven then over the place--Captain William Dobbindid nottake the slightest notice.

He carriedabout Amelia's white cashmere shawlandhavingattended under the gilt cockle-shellwhile Mrs.Salmonperformed the Battle of Borodino (a savagecantataagainst the Corsican upstartwho had lately metwith hisRussian reverses)--Mr. Dobbin tried to hum itas hewalked awayand found he was humming--the tunewhichAmelia Sedley sang on the stairsas she camedown todinner.

He burstout laughing at himself; for the truth ishecould singno better than an owl.

It is tobe understoodas a matter of coursethat ouryoungpeoplebeing in parties of two and twomade themostsolemn promises to keep together during the eveningandseparated in ten minutes afterwards.  Parties atVauxhallalways did separatebut 'twas only to meetagain atsupper-timewhen they could talk of their mutualadventuresin the interval. What werethe adventures of Mr. Osborne and MissAmelia?That is a secret.  But be sure of this--they wereperfectlyhappyand correct in their behaviour; and asthey hadbeen in the habit of being together any time thesefifteenyearstheir tete-a-tete offered no particularnovelty.

But whenMiss Rebecca Sharp and her stout companionlostthemselves in a solitary walkin which there were notabove fivescore more of couples similarly strayingtheyboth feltthat the situation was extremely tender andcriticaland now or never was the moment Miss Sharpthoughtto provoke that declaration which was tremblingon thetimid lips of Mr. Sedley.  They had previously beento thepanorama of Moscowwhere a rude fellowtreadingon MissSharp's footcaused her to fall back with a littleshriekinto the arms of Mr. Sedleyand this little incidentincreasedthe tenderness and confidence of that gentlemanto such adegreethat he told her several of his favouriteIndianstories over again forat leastthe sixth time.

"HowI should like to see India!" said Rebecca.

"SHOULDyou?" said Josephwith a most killing tenderness;and was nodoubt about to follow up this artfulinterrogatoryby a question still more tender (for he puffedand panteda great dealand Rebecca's handwhich wasplacednear his heartcould count the feverish pulsationsof thatorgan)whenohprovoking! the bell rang for thefireworksanda great scuffling and running taking placetheseinteresting lovers were obliged to follow in thestream ofpeople.

CaptainDobbin had some thoughts of joining the partyat supper:asin truthhe found the Vauxhallamusementsnot particularly lively--but he paradedtwicebefore the box where the now united couples weremetandnobody took any notice of him.  Covers were laid forfour. The mated pairs were prattling away quite happilyand Dobbinknew he was as clean forgotten as if he hadneverexisted in this world.

"Ishould only be de trop" said the Captainlooking atthemrather wistfully.  "I'd best go and talk to the hermit"--and sohe strolled off out of the hum of menand noiseandclatter of the banquetinto the dark walkat the endof whichlived that well-known pasteboard Solitary.  Itwasn'tvery good fun for Dobbin--andindeedto bealone atVauxhallI have foundfrom my own experienceto be oneof the most dismal sports ever entered into by abachelor.

The twocouples were perfectly happy then in theirbox: wherethe most delightful and intimate conversationtookplace.  Jos was in his gloryordering about the waiterswith greatmajesty.  He made the salad; and uncorkedtheChampagne; and carved the chickens; and ate anddrank thegreater part of the refreshments on the tables.Finallyhe insisted upon having a bowl of rack punch;everybodyhad rack punch at Vauxhall.  "Waiterrackpunch."

That bowlof rack punch was the cause of all thishistory. And why not a bowl of rack punch as well as anyothercause? Was not a bowl of prussic acid the cause ofFairRosamond's retiring from the world? Was not a bowlof winethe cause of the demise of Alexander the Greatoratleastdoes not Dr. Lempriere say so?--so did thisbowl ofrack punch influence the fates of all the principalcharactersin this "Novel without a Hero" which we arenowrelating.  It influenced their lifealthough most ofthem didnot taste a drop of it.

The youngladies did not drink it; Osborne did notlike it;and the consequence was that Josthat fatgourmanddrank up the whole contents of the bowl;and theconsequence of his drinking up the whole contentsof thebowl was a liveliness which at first was astonishingand thenbecame almost painful; for he talked and laughed soloud as tobring scores of listeners round the boxmuchto theconfusion of the innocent party within it; andvolunteeringto sing a song (which he did in that maudlinhigh keypeculiar to gentlemen in an inebriated state)healmostdrew away the audience who were gathered roundthemusicians in the gilt scollop-shelland received fromhishearers a great deal of applause.

"BrayvoFat un!" said one; "AngcoreDaniel Lambert!"saidanother; "What a figure for the tight-rope!"exclaimedanother wagto the inexpressible alarm oftheladiesand the great anger of Mr. Osborne.

"ForHeaven's sakeJoslet us get up and go" criedthatgentlemanand the young women rose.

"Stopmy dearest diddle-diddle-darling" shouted Josnow asbold as a lionand clasping Miss Rebecca roundthewaist.  Rebecca startedbut she could not get away herhand. The laughter outside redoubled.  Jos continued todrinktomake loveand to sing; andwinking and wavinghis glassgracefully to his audiencechallenged all or anyto come inand take a share of his punch.

Mr.Osborne was just on the point of knocking down agentlemanin top-bootswho proposed to take advantageof thisinvitationand a commotion seemed to beinevitablewhen by the greatest good luck a gentlemanof thename of Dobbinwho had been walking about thegardensstepped up to the box.  "Be offyou fools!" saidthisgentleman--shouldering off a great number of the crowdwhovanished presently before his cocked hat and fierceappearance--andhe entered the box in a most agitated state.

"GoodHeavens! Dobbinwhere have you been?" 0sbornesaidseizing the white cashmere shawl from hisfriend'sarmand huddling up Amelia in it.--"Makeyourselfusefuland take charge of Jos herewhilst Itake theladies to the carriage."

Jos wasfor rising to interfere--but a single push fromOsborne'sfinger sent him puffing back into his seat againand thelieutenant was enabled to remove the ladies insafety. Jos kissed his hand to them as they retreatedandhiccuppedout "Bless you! Bless you!" ThenseizingCaptainDobbin's handand weeping in the most pitiful wayheconfided to that gentleman the secret of his loves.  Headoredthat girl who had just gone out; he had brokenher hearthe knew he hadby his conduct; he would marryher nextmorning at St. George'sHanover Square; he'dknock upthe Archbishop of Canterbury at Lambeth: hewouldbyJove! and have him in readiness; andacting onthis hintCaptain Dobbin shrewdly induced him to leavethegardens and hasten to Lambeth Palaceandwhen onceout of thegateseasily conveyed Mr. Jos Sedley into ahackney-coachwhich deposited him safely at his lodgings.

GeorgeOsborne conducted the girls home in safety:and whenthe door was closed upon themand as hewalkedacross Russell Squarelaughed so as to astonishthewatchman.  Amelia looked very ruefully at her friendas theywent up stairsand kissed herand went to bedwithoutany more talking.

"Hemust propose to-morrow" thought Rebecca.  "Hecalled mehis soul's darlingfour times; he squeezed myhand inAmelia's presence.  He must propose to-morrow."And sothought Ameliatoo.  And I dare say she thoughtof thedress she was to wear as bridesmaidand of thepresentswhich she should make to her nice little sister-in-lawandof a subsequent ceremony in which she herselfmight playa principal part&c.and &c.and &c.and &c.

Ohignorant young creatures! How little do you knowthe effectof rack punch! What is the rack in the punchat nightto the rack in the head of a morning? To thistruth Ican vouch as a man; there is no headache in theworld likethat caused by Vauxhall punch.  Through thelapse oftwenty yearsI can remember the consequenceof twoglasses!
two wine-glasses!
but twoupon thehonour ofa gentleman; and Joseph Sedleywho had alivercomplainthad swallowed at least a quart of theabominablemixture.

That nextmorningwhich Rebecca thought was todawn uponher fortunefound Sedley groaning in agonieswhich thepen refuses to describe.  Soda-water was notinventedyet.  Small beer--will it be believed!--was theonly drinkwith which unhappy gentlemen soothed thefever oftheir previous night's potation.  With this mildbeveragebefore himGeorge Osborne found the ex-Collectorof Boggley Wollah groaning on the sofa athislodgings.  Dobbin was already in the roomgood-naturedlytending his patient of the night before.  The twoofficerslooking at the prostrate Bacchanalianandaskance ateach otherexchanged the most frightfulsympatheticgrins.  Even Sedley's valetthe most solemnandcorrect of gentlemenwith the muteness and gravity ofanundertakercould hardly keep his countenance inorderashe looked at his unfortunate master.

"Mr.Sedley was uncommon wild last nightsir" hewhisperedin confidence to Osborneas the latter mountedthestair.  "He wanted to fight the 'ackney-coachmansir.TheCapting was obliged to bring him upstairs in hisharms likea babby." A momentary smile flickered overMr.Brush's features as he spoke; instantlyhowevertheyrelapsedinto their usual unfathomable calmas he flungopen thedrawing-room doorand announced "Mr.Hosbin."

"Howare youSedley?" that young wag beganaftersurveyinghis victim.  "No bones broke? There's ahackney-coachmandownstairs with a black eyeand atied-upheadvowing he'll have the law of you."

"Whatdo you mean--law?" Sedley faintly asked.

"Forthrashing him last night--didn't heDobbin? Youhit outsirlike Molyneux.  The watchman says he neversaw afellow go down so straight.  Ask Dobbin."

"YouDID have a round with the coachman" CaptainDobbinsaid"and showed plenty of fight too."

"Andthat fellow with the white coat at Vauxhall! HowJos droveat him! How the women screamed! By Jovesiritdid my heart good to see you.  I thought you civilianshad nopluck; but I'll never get in your way when youare inyour cupsJos."

"Ibelieve I'm very terriblewhen I'm roused"ejaculatedJos from the sofaand made a grimace sodreary andludicrousthat the Captain's politeness couldrestrainhim no longerand he and Osborne fired off aringingvolley of laughter.

Osbornepursued his advantage pitilessly.  He thoughtJos amilksop.  He had been revolving in his mind themarriagequestion pending between Jos and Rebeccaandwas notover well pleased that a member of a family intowhich heGeorge Osborneof the --thwas goingto marryshould make a mesalliance with a little nobody--a littleupstart governess.  "You hityou poor oldfellow!"said Osborne.  "You terrible! Whymanyoucouldn'tstand--you made everybody laugh in theGardensthough you were crying yourself.  You weremaudlinJos.  Don't you remember singing a song?"

"Awhat?" Jos asked.

"Asentimental songand calling RosaRebeccawhat'sher nameAmelia's little friend--your dearest diddle-diddle-darling?"And this ruthless young fellowseizinghold ofDobbin's handacted over the sceneto the horrorof theoriginal performerand in spite of Dobbin's good-naturedentreaties to him to have mercy.

"Whyshould I spare him?" Osborne said to his friend'sremonstranceswhen they quitted the invalidleaving himunder thehands of Doctor Gollop.  "What the deuce righthas he togive himself his patronizing airsand make foolsof us atVauxhall? Who's this little schoolgirl that isogling andmaking love to him? Hang itthe family'slow enoughalreadywithout HER.  A governess is all verywellbutI'd rather have a lady for my sister-in-law.  I'ma liberalman; but I've proper prideand know my ownstation:let her know hers.  And I'll take down that greathectoringNaboband prevent him from being made agreaterfool than he is.  That's why I told him to look outlest shebrought an action against him."

"Isuppose you know best" Dobbin saidthough ratherdubiously. "You always were a Toryand your family'sone of theoldest in England.  But --"

"Comeand see the girlsand make love to Miss Sharpyourself"the lieutenant here interrupted his friend; butCaptainDobbin declined to join Osborne in his daily visitto theyoung ladies in Russell Square.

As Georgewalked down Southampton RowfromHolbornhe laughed as he sawat the Sedley Mansionin twodifferent stories two heads on the look-out.

The factisMiss Ameliain the drawing-room balconywaslooking very eagerly towards the opposite side of theSquarewhere Mr. Osborne dwelton the watch for thelieutenanthimself; and Miss Sharpfrom her little bed-room onthe second floorwas in observation until Mr.Joseph'sgreat form should heave in sight.

"SisterAnne is on the watch-tower" said he to Amelia"butthere's nobody coming"; and laughing and enjoyingthe jokehugelyhe described in the most ludicrous termsto MissSedleythe dismal condition of her brother.

"Ithink it's very cruel of you to laughGeorge" shesaidlooking particularly unhappy; but George onlylaughedthe more at her piteous and discomfited mienpersistedin thinking the joke a most diverting oneandwhen MissSharp came downstairsbantered her with agreat dealof liveliness upon the effect of her charms onthe fatcivilian.

"OMiss Sharp! if you could but see him this morning"hesaid--"moaning in his flowered dressing-gown--writhingon his sofa; if you could but have seen himlollingout his tongue to Gollop the apothecary."

"Seewhom?" said Miss Sharp.

"Whom?O whom?  Captain Dobbinof courseto whomwe wereall so attentiveby the waylast night."

"Wewere very unkind to him" Emmy saidblushingverymuch.  "I--I quite forgot him."

"Ofcourse you did" cried Osbornestill on the laugh.

"Onecan't be ALWAYS thinking about Dobbinyou knowAmelia. Can oneMiss Sharp?"

"Exceptwhen he overset the glass of wine at dinner"Miss Sharpsaidwith a haughty air and a toss of thehead"Inever gave the existence of Captain Dobbin onesinglemoment's consideration."

"VerygoodMiss SharpI'll tell him" Osborne said;and as hespoke Miss Sharp began to have a feeling ofdistrustand hatred towards this young officerwhich hewas quiteunconscious of having inspired.  "He is to makefun of meis he?" thought Rebecca.  "Has he beenlaughingabout me to Joseph?  Has he frightened him?Perhaps hewon't come."--A film passed over her eyesand herheart beat quite quick.

"You'realways joking" said shesmiling as innocentlyas shecould.  "Joke awayMr. George; there's nobodyto defendME." And George Osborneas she walked away--andAmelia looked reprovingly at him--felt some littlemanlycompunction for having inflicted any unnecessaryunkindnessupon this helpless creature.  "My dearestAmelia"said he"you are too good--too kind.  Youdon't knowthe world.  I do.  And your little friend MissSharp mustlearn her station."

"Don'tyou think Jos will--"

"Uponmy wordmy dearI don't know.  He mayormay not. I'm not his master.  I only know he is a veryfoolishvain fellowand put my dear little girl into a verypainfuland awkward position last night.  My dearestdiddle-diddle-darling!"He was off laughing againand hedid it sodrolly that Emmy laughed too.

All thatday Jos never came.  But Amelia had no fearaboutthis; for the little schemer had actually sent awaythe pageMr. Sambo's aide-de-campto Mr. Joseph'slodgingsto ask for some book he had promisedand howhe was;and the reply through Jos's manMr. Brushwasthat hismaster was ill in bedand had just had the doctorwith him. He must come to-morrowshe thoughtbut shenever hadthe courage to speak a word on the subjecttoRebecca; nor did that young woman herself alludeto it inany way during the whole evening after the nightatVauxhall.

The nextdayhoweveras the two young ladies sate onthe sofapretending to workor to write lettersor toreadnovelsSambo came into the room with his usualengaginggrinwith a packet under his armand a noteon atray.  "Note from Mr. JosMiss" says Sambo.

How Ameliatrembled as she opened it!

So it ran:

DearAmelia--I send you the "Orphan of the Forest."I was tooill to come yesterday.  I leave town to-dayforCheltenham.  Pray excuse meif you canto theamiableMiss Sharpfor my conduct at Vauxhallandentreather to pardon and forget every word I may haveutteredwhen excited by that fatal supper.  As soon asI haverecoveredfor my health is very much shakenIshall goto Scotland for some monthsand am

TrulyyoursJos Sedley

It was thedeath-warrant.  All was over.  Amelia didnot dareto look at Rebecca's pale face and burning eyesbut shedropt the letter into her friend's lap; and got upand wentupstairs to her roomand cried her little heartout.

Blenkinsopthe housekeeperthere sought her presentlywithconsolationon whose shoulder Amelia weptconfidentiallyand relieved herself a good deal.  "Don't takeonMiss. I didn't like to tell you.  But none of us in thehouse haveliked her except at fust.  I sor her with myown eyesreading your Ma's letters.  Pinner says she'salwaysabout your trinket-box and drawersandeverybody'sdrawersand she's sure she's put your whiteribbinginto her box."

"Igave it herI gave it her" Amelia said.

But thisdid not alter Mrs. Blenkinsop's opinion of MissSharp. "I don't trust them governessesPinner" sheremarkedto the maid.  "They give themselves the hairs andhupstartsof ladiesand their wages is no better thanyou norme."

It nowbecame clear to every soul in the houseexceptpoorAmeliathat Rebecca should take her departureand highand low (always with the one exception) agreedthat thatevent should take place as speedily as possible.Our goodchild ransacked all her drawerscupboardsreticulesand gimcrack boxes--passed in review all hergownsfichustagsbobbinslacessilk stockingsandfallals--selectingthis thing and that and the othertomake alittle heap for Rebecca.  And going to her Papathatgenerous British merchantwho had promised togive heras many guineas as she was years old--shebegged theold gentleman to give the money to dearRebeccawho must want itwhile she lacked for nothing.

She evenmade George Osborne contributeandnothingloth (for he was as free-handed a young fellowas any inthe army)he went to Bond Streetand boughtthe besthat and spenser that money could buy.

"That'sGeorge's present to youRebeccadear" saidAmeliaquite proud of the bandbox conveying thesegifts. "What a taste he has! There's nobody like him."

"Nobody"Rebecca answered.  "How thankful I am tohim!"She was thinking in her heart"It was GeorgeOsbornewho prevented my marriage."--And she lovedGeorgeOsborne accordingly.

She madeher preparations for departure with greatequanimity;and accepted all the kind little Amelia'spresentsafter just the proper degree of hesitation andreluctance. She vowed eternal gratitude to Mrs. Sedleyof course;but did not intrude herself upon that goodlady toomuchwho was embarrassedand evidentlywishing toavoid her.  She kissed Mr. Sedley's handwhenhepresented her with the purse; and asked permission toconsiderhim for the future as her kindkind friend andprotector. Her behaviour was so affecting that he wasgoing towrite her a cheque for twenty pounds more;but herestrained his feelings: the carriage was in waitingto takehim to dinnerso he tripped away with a "Godbless youmy dearalways come here when you come totownyouknow.--Drive to the Mansion HouseJames."

Finallycame the parting with Miss Ameliaover whichpicture Iintend to throw a veil.  But after a scene inwhich oneperson was in earnest and the other a perfectperformer--afterthe tenderest caressesthe most pathetictearsthesmelling-bottleand some of the very bestfeelingsof the hearthad been called into requisition--Rebeccaand Amelia partedthe former vowing to loveher friendfor ever and ever and ever.

CHAPTERVIICrawleyof Queen's Crawley

Among themost respected of the names beginning in Cwhich theCourt-Guide containedin the year 18--wasthat ofCrawleySir PittBaronetGreat Gaunt StreetandQueen's CrawleyHants.  This honourable name hadfiguredconstantly also in the Parliamentary list for manyyearsinconjunction with that of a number of otherworthygentlemen who sat in turns for the borough.

It isrelatedwith regard to the borough of Queen'sCrawleythat Queen Elizabeth in one of her progressesstoppingat Crawley to breakfastwas so delighted withsomeremarkably fine Hampshire beer which was thenpresentedto her by the Crawley of the day (a handsomegentlemanwith a trim beard and a good leg)that sheforthwitherected Crawley into a borough to send twomembers toParliament; and the placefrom the day ofthatillustrious visittook the name of Queen's Crawleywhich itholds up to the present moment.  And thoughbythe lapseof timeand those mutations which age producesinempirescitiesand boroughsQueen's Crawley was nolonger sopopulous a place as it had been in Queen Bess'stime--naywas come down to that condition of boroughwhich usedto be denominated rotten--yetas Sir PittCrawleywould say with perfect justice in his elegantway"Rotten! be hanged--it produces me a good fifteenhundred ayear."

Sir PittCrawley (named after the great Commoner)was theson of Walpole Crawleyfirst Baronetof theTape andSealing-Wax Office in the reign of George II.when hewas impeached for peculationas were a greatnumber ofother honest gentlemen of those days; andWalpoleCrawley wasas need scarcely be saidson ofJohnChurchill Crawleynamed after the celebratedmilitarycommander of the reign of Queen Anne.  The familytree(which hangs up at Queen's Crawley) furthermorementionsCharles Stuartafterwards called BarebonesCrawleyson of the Crawley of James the First's time;andfinallyQueen Elizabeth's Crawleywho is representedas theforeground of the picture in his forked beard andarmour. Out of his waistcoatas usualgrows a treeonthe mainbranches of which the above illustrious namesareinscribed.  Close by the name of Sir Pitt CrawleyBaronet(the subject of the present memoir)are writtenthat ofhis brotherthe Reverend Bute Crawley (the greatCommonerwas in disgrace when the reverend gentlemanwas born)rector of Crawley-cum-Snailbyand of variousother maleand female members of the Crawley family.

Sir Pittwas first married to Grizzelsixth daughter ofMungoBinkieLord Binkieand cousinin consequenceof Mr.Dundas.  She brought him two sons: Pittnamednot somuch after his father as after the heaven-bornminister;and Rawdon Crawleyfrom the Prince ofWales'sfriendwhom his Majesty George IV forgot socompletely. Many years after her ladyship's demiseSirPitt ledto the altar Rosadaughter of Mr. G. DawsonofMudburyby whom he had two daughtersfor whosebenefitMiss Rebecca Sharp was now engaged asgoverness. It will be seen that the young lady was come into afamily ofvery genteel connexionsand was about to movein a muchmore distinguished circle than that humble onewhich shehad just quitted in Russell Square.

She hadreceived her orders to join her pupilsin anote whichwas written upon an old envelopeand whichcontainedthe following words:

Sir PittCrawley begs Miss Sharp and baggidge may behear onTuesdayas I leaf for Queen's Crawley to-morrowmorningERLY.

GreatGaunt Street.

Rebeccahad never seen a Baronetas far as she knewand assoon as she had taken leave of Ameliaandcountedthe guineas which good-natured Mr. Sedley hadput into apurse for herand as soon as she had donewiping hereyes with her handkerchief (which operationsheconcluded the very moment the carriage had turnedthe cornerof the street)she began to depict in her ownmind whata Baronet must be.  "I wonderdoes he weara star?"thought she"or is it only lords that wear stars?But hewill be very handsomely dressed in a court suitwithrufflesand his hair a little powderedlike Mr.Wroughtonat Covent Garden.  I suppose he will beawfullyproudand that I shall be treated mostcontemptuously. Still I must bear my hard lot as wellas Ican--at leastI shall be amongst GENTLEFOLKSandnot withvulgar city people": and she fell to thinking ofherRussell Square friends with that very same philosophicalbitternesswith whichin a certain apologuethe fox isrepresentedas speaking of the grapes.

Havingpassed through Gaunt Square into Great GauntStreetthe carriage at length stopped at a tall gloomyhousebetween two other tall gloomy houseseach with ahatchmentover the middle drawing-room window; as isthe customof houses in Great Gaunt Streetin whichgloomylocality death seems to reign perpetual.  Theshuttersof the first-floor windows of Sir Pitt's mansionwereclosed--those of the dining-room were partially openand theblinds neatly covered up in old newspapers.

Johnthegroomwho had driven the carriage alonedid notcare to descend to ring the bell; and so prayed apassingmilk-boy to perform that office for him.  When thebell wasrunga head appeared between the interstices ofthedining-room shuttersand the door was opened by aman indrab breeches and gaiterswith a dirty old coata foul oldneckcloth lashed round his bristly neckashiningbald heada leering red facea pair of twinkling greyeyesanda mouth perpetually on the grin

"ThisSir Pitt Crawley's?" says Johnfrom the box.

"Ees"says the man at the doorwith a nod.

"Handdown these 'ere trunks then" said John.

"Hand'n down yourself" said the porter.

"Don'tyou see I can't leave my hosses? Comebear ahandmyfine fellerand Miss will give you some beer"said Johnwith a horse-laughfor he was no longerrespectfulto Miss Sharpas her connexion with the familywas brokenoffand as she had given nothing to theservantson coming away.

Thebald-headed mantaking his hands out of hisbreechespocketsadvanced on this summonsandthrowingMiss Sharp's trunk over his shouldercarried it intothe house.

"Takethis basket and shawlif you pleaseand openthe door"said Miss Sharpand descended from thecarriagein much indignation.  "I shall write to Mr. Sedleyand informhim of your conduct" said she to the groom.

"Don't"replied that functionary.  "I hope you've forgotnothink?Miss 'Melia's gownds--have you got them--asthe lady'smaid was to have 'ad? I hope they'll fit you.Shut thedoorJimyou'll get no good out of 'ER"continuedJohnpointing with his thumb towards Miss Sharp:"abad lotI tell youa bad lot" and so sayingMr.Sedley'sgroom drove away.  The truth ishe was attachedto thelady's maid in questionand indignant that sheshouldhave been robbed of her perquisites.

Onentering the dining-roomby the orders of theindividualin gaitersRebecca found that apartment notmorecheerful than such rooms usually arewhen genteelfamiliesare out of town.  The faithful chambers seemasit wereto mourn the absence of their masters.  The turkeycarpet hasrolled itself upand retired sulkily under thesideboard:the pictures have hidden their faces behind oldsheets ofbrown paper: the ceiling lamp is muffled up in adismalsack of brown holland: the window-curtains havedisappearedunder all sorts of shabby envelopes: themarblebust of Sir Walpole Crawley is looking from itsblackcorner at the bare boards and the oiled fire-ironsand theempty card-racks over the mantelpiece: thecellarethas lurked away behind the carpet: the chairs areturned upheads and tails along the walls: and in thedarkcorner opposite the statueis an old-fashionedcrabbedknife-boxlocked and sitting on a dumb waiter.

Twokitchen chairsand a round tableand anattenuatedold poker and tongs werehowevergatheredround thefire-placeas was a saucepan over a feeblesputteringfire.  There was a bit of cheese and breadanda tincandlestick on the tableand a little black porterin apint-pot.

"Hadyour dinnerI suppose? It is not too warm foryou? Likea drop of beer?"

"Whereis Sir Pitt Crawley?" said Miss Sharpmajestically.

"Hehe! I'm Sir Pitt Crawley.  Reklect you owe me apint forbringing down your luggage.  Hehe! AskTinker ifI aynt.  Mrs. TinkerMiss Sharp; MissGovernessMrs. Charwoman.  Hoho!"

The ladyaddressed as Mrs. Tinker at this momentmade herappearance with a pipe and a paper of tobaccofor whichshe had been despatched a minute beforeMissSharp's arrival; and she handed the articles over toSir Pittwho had taken his seat by the fire.

"Where'sthe farden?" said he.  "I gave you threehalfpence. Where's the changeold Tinker?"

"There!"replied Mrs. Tinkerflinging down the coin;it's onlybaronets as cares about farthings."

"Afarthing a day is seven shillings a year" answeredthe M.P.;"seven shillings a year is the interest of sevenguineas. Take care of your farthingsold Tinkerand yourguineaswill come quite nat'ral."

"Youmay be sure it's Sir Pitt Crawleyyoung woman"said Mrs.Tinkersurlily; "because he looks to hisfarthings. You'll know him better afore long."

"Andlike me none the worseMiss Sharp" said theoldgentlemanwith an air almost of politeness.  "I mustbe justbefore I'm generous."

 "Henever gave away a farthing in his life" growledTinker.

"Neverand never will: it's against my principle.  Goand getanother chair from the kitchenTinkerif youwant tosit down; and then we'll have a bit of supper."

Presentlythe baronet plunged a fork into the saucepanon thefireand withdrew from the pot a piece of tripeand anonionwhich he divided into pretty equalportionsand of which he partook with Mrs. Tinker.  "YouseeMissSharpwhen I'm not here Tinker's on boardwages:when I'm in town she dines with the family.Haw! haw!I'm glad Miss Sharp's not hungryain't youTink?"And they fell to upon their frugal supper.

Aftersupper Sir Pitt Crawley began to smoke hispipe; andwhen it became quite darkhe lighted therushlightin the tin candlestickand producing from aninterminablepocket a huge mass of papersbegan readingthemandputting them in order.

"I'mhere on law businessmy dearand that's how ithappensthat I shall have the pleasure of such a prettytravellingcompanion to-morrow."

"He'salways at law business" said Mrs. Tinkertaking upthe pot of porter. "Drinkand drink about" said the Baronet.  "Yes; mydearTinker is quite right: I've lost and won morelawsuitsthan any man in England.  Look here at CrawleyBart. v.Snaffle.  I'll throw him overor my name's notPittCrawley.  Podder and another versus CrawleyBart.Overseersof Snaily parish against CrawleyBart.  Theycan'tprove it's common: I'll defy 'em; the land's mine.It no morebelongs to the parish than it does to you orTinkerhere.  I'll beat 'emif it cost me a thousand guineas.Look overthe papers; you may if you likemy dear.Do youwrite a good hand? I'll make you useful whenwe're atQueen's Crawleydepend on itMiss Sharp.Now thedowager's dead I want some one."

"Shewas as bad as he" said Tinker.  "She took thelaw ofevery one of her tradesmen; and turned awayforty-eightfootmen in four year."

"Shewas close--very close" said the Baronetsimply;"butshe was a valyble woman to meand saved me asteward."--Andin this confidential strainand much totheamusement of the new-comerthe conversationcontinuedfor a considerable time.  Whatever Sir PittCrawley'squalities might begood or badhe did not makethe leastdisguise of them.  He talked of himself incessantlysometimesin the coarsest and vulgarest Hampshire accent;sometimesadopting the tone of a man of the world.  And sowithinjunctions to Miss Sharp to be ready at five in themorninghe bade her good night.   "You'll sleep with Tinkerto-night"he said; "it's a big bedand there's room for two.LadyCrawley died in it.  Good night."

Sir Pittwent off after this benedictionand the solemnTinkerrushlight in handled the way up the greatbleakstone stairspast the great dreary drawing-roomdoorswith the handles muffled up in paperinto thegreatfront bedroomwhere Lady Crawley had slept herlast. The bed and chamber were so funereal and gloomyyou mighthave fanciednot only that Lady Crawley diedin theroombut that her ghost inhabited it.  Rebeccasprangabout the apartmenthoweverwith the greatestlivelinessand had peeped into the huge wardrobesandtheclosetsand the cupboardsand tried the drawerswhich werelockedand examined the dreary picturesandtoilette appointmentswhile the old charwomanwas sayingher prayers.  "I shouldn't like to sleep in thisyeer bedwithout a good conscienceMiss" said the oldwoman. "There's room for us and a half-dozen of ghostsin it"says Rebecca.  "Tell me all about Lady Crawleyand SirPitt Crawleyand everybodymy DEAR Mrs.Tinker."

But oldTinker was not to be pumped by this littlecross-questioner;and signifying to her that bed was aplace forsleepingnot conversationset up in her cornerof the bedsuch a snore as only the nose of innocencecanproduce.  Rebecca lay awake for a longlong timethinkingof the morrowand of the new world into whichshe wasgoingand of her chances of success there.  Therushlightflickered in the basin.  The mantelpiece cast upa greatblack shadowover half of a mouldy old samplerwhich herdefunct ladyship had workedno doubtandover twolittle family pictures of young ladsone in acollegegownand the other in a red jacket like a soldier.When shewent to sleepRebecca chose that one todreamabout. At fouro'clockon such a roseate summer's morningas evenmade Great Gaunt Street look cheerfulthefaithfulTinkerhaving wakened her bedfellowand bid herpreparefor departureunbarred and unbolted the greathall door(the clanging and clapping whereof startledthesleeping echoes in the street)and taking her wayintoOxford Streetsummoned a coach from a standthere. It is needless to particularize the number of thevehicleor to state that the driver was stationed thusearly inthe neighbourhood of Swallow Streetin hopesthat someyoung buckreeling homeward from the tavernmight needthe aid of his vehicleand pay him withthegenerosity of intoxication. It islikewise needless to say that the driverif he hadany suchhopes as those.above statedwas grosslydisappointed;and that the worthy Baronet whom he droveto theCity did not give him one single penny more thanhis fare. It was in vain that Jehu appealed and stormed;that heflung down Miss Sharp's bandboxes in the gutterat the'Necksand swore he would take the law of hisfare. "You'dbetter not" said one of the ostlers; "it's SirPittCrawley." "Soit isJoe" cried the Baronetapprovingly; "andI'd liketo see the man can do me."  "Soshould oi" said Joegrinning sulkilyandmountingthe Baronet's baggage on the roof of the coach. "Keepthe box for meLeader" exclaims the MemberofParliament to the coachman; who replied"YesSir Pitt"with a touch of his hatand rage in his soul(for hehad promised the box to a young gentlemanfromCambridgewho would have given a crown to acertainty)and Miss Sharp was accommodated with aback seatinside the carriagewhich might be said to becarryingher into the wide world. How theyoung man from Cambridge sulkily put hisfivegreat-coats in front; but was reconciled when littleMiss Sharpwas made to quit the carriageand mountup besidehim--when he covered her up in one of hisBenjaminsand became perfectly good-humoured--howtheasthmatic gentlemanthe prim ladywho declaredupon hersacred honour she had never travelled in apubliccarriage before (there is always such a lady in acoach--Alas!was; for the coacheswhere are they?)and thefat widow with the brandy-bottletook theirplacesinside--how the porter asked them all for moneyand gotsixpence from the gentleman and five greasyhalfpencefrom the fat widow--and how the carriageat lengthdrove away--now threading the dark lanes ofAldersgateanon clattering by the Blue Cupola of St.Paul'sjingling rapidly by the strangers' entry of Fleet-Marketwhichwith Exeter 'Changehas now departedto theworld of shadows--how they passed the WhiteBear inPiccadillyand saw the dew rising up from themarket-gardensof Knightsbridge--how TurnhamgreenBrentwoodBagshotwere passed--need not be told here.But thewriter of these pageswho has pursued in formerdaysandin the same bright weatherthe same remarkablejourneycannot but think of it with a sweet andtenderregret.  Where is the road nowand its merryincidentsof life? Is there no Chelsea or Greenwich forthe oldhonest pimple-nosed coachmen?  I wonder whereare theythose good fellows? Is old Weller alive or dead?and thewaitersyeaand the inns at which they waitedand thecold rounds of beef insideand the stunted ostlerwith hisblue nose and clinking pailwhere is heandwhere ishis generation?  To those great geniuses now inpetticoatswho shall write novels for the beloved reader'schildrenthese men and things will be as much legendandhistory as Ninevehor Coeur de Lionor JackSheppard. For them stage-coaches will have become romances--a teamof four bays as fabulous as Bucephalus or BlackBess. Ahhow their coats shoneas the stable-men pulledtheirclothes offand away they went--ahhow theirtailsshookas with smoking sides at the stage's endtheydemurely walked away into the inn-yard.  Alas!  weshallnever hear the horn sing at midnightor see thepike-gatesfly open any more.  Whitherhoweveris thelightfour-inside Trafalgar coach carrying us? Let us beset downat Queen's Crawley without further divagationand seehow Miss Rebecca Sharp speeds there.

CHAPTERVIII

MissRebecca Sharp to Miss Amelia SedleyRussellSquareLondon.(Free.--PittCrawley.)

MYDEARESTSWEETEST AMELIA    With whatmingled joy and sorrow do I take up thepen towrite to my dearest friend!  Ohwhat a changebetweento-day and yesterday! Now I am friendless andalone;yesterday I was at homein the sweet companyof asisterwhom I shall everever cherish! I will nottell you in what tears and sadness I passedthe fatalnight in which I separated from you.  YOU wenton Tuesdayto joy and happinesswith your mother andYOURDEVOTED YOUNG SOLDIER by your side; and I thoughtof you allnightdancing at the Perkins'sthe prettiestI am sureof all the young ladies at the Ball.  I wasbrought bythe groom in the old carriage to Sir PittCrawley'stown housewhereafter John the groom hadbehavedmost rudely and insolently to me (alas! 'twassafe toinsult poverty and misfortune!)I was given overto SirP.'s careand made to pass the night in an oldgloomybedand by the side of a horrid gloomy oldcharwomanwho keeps the house.  I did not sleep onesinglewink the whole night. Sir Pittis not what we silly girlswhen we used toreadCecilia at Chiswickimagined a baronet must havebeen. Anythingindeedless like Lord Orville cannot beimagined. Fancy an oldstumpyshortvulgarand verydirty manin old clothes and shabby old gaiterswhosmokes ahorrid pipeand cooks his own horrid supperin asaucepan.  He speaks with a country accentandswore agreat deal at the old charwomanat the hackneycoachmanwho drove us to the inn where the coach wentfromandon which I made the journey OUTSIDE FOR THEGREATERPART OF THE WAY. I wasawakened at daybreak by the charwomanandhavingarrived at the innwas at first placed inside thecoach. Butwhen we got to a place called Leakingtonwhere therain began to fall very heavily--will youbelieveit?--I was forced to come outside; for Sir Pitt is aproprietorof the coachand as a passenger came atMudburywho wanted an inside placeI was obliged togo outsidein the rainwherehowevera younggentlemanfrom Cambridge College sheltered me verykindly inone of his several great coats. Thisgentleman and the guard seemed to know SirPitt verywelland laughed at him a great deal.  Theybothagreed in calling him an old screw; which means averystingyavaricious person.  He never gives any moneytoanybodythey said (and this meanness I hate); andthe younggentleman made me remark that we drovevery slowfor the last two stages on the roadbecauseSir Pittwas on the boxand because he is proprietorof thehorses for this part of the journey.  "But won't Iflog 'emon to Squashmorewhen I take the ribbons?"said theyoung Cantab.  "And sarve 'em rightMasterJack"said the guard.  When I comprehended themeaning ofthis phraseand that Master Jack intended todrive therest of the wayand revenge himself on SirPitt'shorsesof course I laughed too. A carriageand four splendid horsescovered witharmorialbearingshoweverawaited us at Mudburyfour milesfrom Queen's Crawleyand we made ourentranceto the baronet's park in state.  There is a fineavenue ofa mile long leading to the houseand the womanat thelodge-gate (over the pillars of which are a serpentand adovethe supporters of the Crawley arms)madeus anumber of curtsies as she flung open the old ironcarveddoorswhich are something like those at odiousChiswick. "There'san avenue" said Sir Pitt"a mile long.There'ssix thousand pound of timber in them theretrees. Do you call that nothing?" He pronounced avenue--EVENUEand nothing--NOTHINKso droll; and he hada Mr.Hodsonhis hind from Mudburyinto the carriagewith himand they talked about distrainingand sellingupanddraining and subsoilingand a great deal abouttenantsand farming--much more than I couldunderstand. Sam Miles had been caught poachingand PeterBailey hadgone to the workhouse at last.  "Serve himright"said Sir Pitt; "him and his family has beencheatingme on that farm these hundred and fifty years."Some oldtenantI supposewho could not pay his rent.Sir Pittmight have said "he and his family" to be sure;but richbaronets do not need to be careful aboutgrammaras poor governesses must be. As wepassedI remarked a beautiful church-spirerisingabove some old elms in the park; and before themin themidst of a lawnand some outhousesan old redhouse withtall chimneys covered with ivyand thewindowsshining in the sun.  "Is that your churchsir?"I said. "Yeshang it" (said Sir Pittonly he useddearA MUCHWICKEDERWORD); "how's ButyHodson? Buty's mybrotherButemy dear--my brother the parson.  Buty andthe BeastI call himhaha!" Hodsonlaughed tooand then looking more graveandnodding his headsaid"I'm afraid he's betterSirPitt. He was out on his pony yesterdaylooking at ourcorn." "Lookingafter his titheshang'un (only he used thesamewicked word).  Will brandy and water never killhim? He'sas tough as old whatdyecallum--oldMethusalem." Mr. Hodsonlaughed again.  "The young men is homefromcollege.  They've whopped John Scroggins till he'swell nighdead." "Whopmy second keeper!" roared out Sir Pitt. "Hewas on the parson's groundsir" replied Mr.Hodson;and Sir Pitt in a fury swore that if he ever caught'empoaching on his groundhe'd transport 'emby thelord hewould.  Howeverhe said"I've sold thepresentationof the livingHodson; none of that breedshall getitI war'nt"; and Mr. Hodson said he was quite right:and I haveno doubt from this that the two brothers areatvariance--as brothers often areand sisters too.  Don'tyouremember the two Miss Scratchleys at Chiswickhow theyused always to fight and quarrel--and MaryBoxhowshe was always thumping Louisa? Presentlyseeing two little boys gathering sticks in thewoodMr.Hodson jumped out of the carriageat SirPitt'sorderand rushed upon them with his whip.  "Pitchinto 'emHodson" roared the baronet; "flog their littlesouls outand bring 'em up to the housethe vagabonds;I'llcommit 'em as sure as my name's Pitt." And presentlywe heardMr. Hodson's whip cracking on theshouldersof the poor little blubbering wretchesandSir Pittseeing that the malefactors were in custodydrove onto the hall.

All theservants were ready to meet usand. . .

HeremydearI was interrupted last night by adreadfulthumping at my door: and who do you think itwas? SirPitt Crawley in his night-cap and dressing-gownsucha figure! As I shrank away from such avisitorhe came forward and seized my candle.  "Nocandlesafter eleven o'clockMiss Becky" said he.  "Go tobed in thedarkyou pretty little hussy" (that is whathe calledme)"and unless you wish me to come for thecandleevery nightmind and be in bed at eleven." Andwith thishe and Mr. Horrocks the butler went offlaughing. You may be sure I shall not encourage any moreof theirvisits.  They let loose two immense bloodhoundsat nightwhich all last night were yelling and howlingat themoon.  "I call the dog Gorer" said Sir Pitt; "he'skilled aman that dog hasand is master of a bullandthe motherI used to call Flora; but now I calls herAroarerfor she's too old to bite.  Hawhaw!" Before thehouse of Queen's Crawleywhich is anodiousold-fashioned red brick mansionwith tallchimneysand gables of the style of Queen Bessthere is aterraceflanked by the family dove and serpentand onwhich thegreat hall-door opens.  And ohmy dearthegreat hallI am sure is as big and as glum as the greathall inthe dear castle of Udolpho.  It has a largefireplacein which we might put half Miss Pinkerton'sschooland the grate is big enough to roast an ox at theveryleast.  Round the room hang I don't know howmanygenerations of Crawleyssome with beards andruffssome with huge wigs and toes turned outsomedressed inlong straight stays and gowns that look asstiff astowersand some with long ringletsand ohmydear!scarcely any stays at all.  At one end of the hall isthe greatstaircase all in black oakas dismal as may beand oneither side are tall doors with stags' heads.overthemleading to the billiard-room and the libraryandthe greatyellow saloon and the morning-rooms.  I thinkthere areat least twenty bedrooms on the first floor; oneof themhas the bed in which Queen Elizabeth slept;and I havebeen taken by my new pupils through allthese fineapartments this morning.  They are notrenderedless gloomyI promise youby having the shuttersalwaysshut; and there is scarce one of the apartmentsbut whenthe light was let into itI expected tosee aghost in the room.  We have a schoolroom on thesecondfloorwith my bedroom leading into it on onesideandthat of the young ladies on the other.  Thenthere areMr. Pitt's apartments--Mr. Crawleyhe iscalled--theeldest sonand Mr. Rawdon Crawley's rooms--he is anofficer like SOMEBODYand away with hisregiment. There is no want of room I assure you.  Youmightlodge all the people in Russell Square in thehouseIthinkand have space to spare.

Half anhour after our arrivalthe great dinner-bellwas rungand I came down with my two pupils (theyare verythin insignificant little chits of ten and eightyearsold).  I came down in your dear muslin gown(aboutwhich that odious Mrs. Pinner was so rudebecauseyou gave it me); for I am to be treated as one ofthefamilyexcept on company dayswhen the youngladies andI are to dine upstairs.

Wellthegreat dinner-bell rangand we all assembledin thelittle drawing-room where my Lady Crawleysits. She is the second Lady Crawleyand mother of theyoungladies.  She was an ironmonger's daughterandhermarriage was thought a great match.  She looks asif she hadbeen handsome onceand her eyes are alwaysweepingfor the loss of her beauty.  She is pale andmeagre andhigh-shoulderedand has not a word to sayforherselfevidently.  Her stepson Mr. Crawleywaslikewisein the room.  He was in full dressas pompousas anundertaker.  He is palethinuglysilent; he hasthin legsno chesthay-coloured whiskersand straw-colouredhair.  He is the very picture of his saintedmotherover the mantelpiece--Griselda of the noblehouse ofBinkie.

"Thisis the new governessMr. Crawley" said LadyCrawleycoming forward and taking my hand.  "MissSharp."

"0!"said Mr. Crawleyand pushed his head onceforwardand began again to read a great pamphletwith whichhe was busy.

"Ihope you will be kind to my girls" said LadyCrawleywith her pink eyes always full of tears.

"LawMaof course she will" said the eldest: and Isaw at aglance that I need not be afraid of THAT woman."Mylady is served" says the butler in blackin animmensewhite shirt-frillthat looked as if it had beenone of theQueen Elizabeth's ruffs depicted in the hall;and sotaking Mr. Crawley's armshe led the way to thedining-roomwhither I followed with my little pupils ineach hand.

Sir Pittwas already in the room with a silver jug.  Hehad justbeen to the cellarand was in full dress too;that ishe had taken his gaiters offand showed his littledumpy legsin black worsted stockings.  The sideboardwascovered with glistening old plate--old cupsbothgold andsilver; old salvers and cruet-standslikeRundelland Bridge's shop.  Everything on the table was insilvertooand two footmenwith red hair and canary-colouredliveriesstood on either side of the sideboard.

Mr.Crawley said a long graceand Sir Pitt said amenand thegreat silver dish-covers were removed.

"Whathave we for dinnerBetsy?' said the Baronet.

"MuttonbrothI believeSir Pitt" answered LadyCrawley.

"Moutonaux navets" added the butler gravely(pronounceif you pleasemoutongonavvy); "and thesoup ispotage de mouton a l'Ecossaise.  The side-dishescontainpommes de terre au natureland choufleur a l'eau."

"Mutton'smutton" said the Baronet"and a devilishgoodthing.  What SHIP was itHorrocksand when didyou kill?"

"Oneof the black-faced ScotchSir Pitt: we killed on Thursday.

"Whotook any?"

"Steelof Mudburytook the saddle and two legsSirPitt; buthe says the last was too young and confoundedwoollySir Pitt."

"Willyou take some potageMiss ah--Miss Blunt?said Mr.Crawley.

"CapitalScotch brothmy dear" said Sir Pitt"thoughthey callit by a French name."

"Ibelieve it is the customsirin decent society" saidMr.Crawleyhaughtily"to call the dish as I have calledit";and it was served to us on silver soup plates by the

footmen inthe canary coatswith the mouton auxnavets. Then "ale and water" were broughtand servedto usyoung ladies in wine-glasses.  I am not a judge ofalebut Ican say with a clear conscience I prefer water.

While wewere enjoying our repastSir Pitt tookoccasionto ask what had become of the shoulders ofthemutton.

"Ibelieve they were eaten in the servants' hall" saidmy ladyhumbly.

"Theywasmy lady" said Horrocks"and preciouslittleelse we get there neither."

Sir Pittburst into a horse-laughand continued hisconversationwith Mr. Horrocks.  "That there little blackpig of theKent sow's breed must be uncommon fatnow."

"It'snot quite bustingSir Pitt" said the butler withthegravest airat which Sir Pittand with him the youngladiesthis timebegan to laugh violently.

"MissCrawleyMiss Rose Crawley" said Mr. Crawley"yourlaughter strikes me as being exceedingly outof place."

"Nevermindmy lord" said the Baronet"we'll trythe porkeron Saturday.  Kill un on Saturday morningJohnHorrocks.  Miss Sharp adores porkdon't youMissSharp?"

And Ithink this is all the conversation that I rememberatdinner.  When the repast was concluded a jug ofhot waterwas placed before Sir Pittwith a case-bottlecontainingI believerum.  Mr. Horrocks served myselfand mypupils with three little glasses of wineand abumper waspoured out for my lady.  When we retiredshe tookfrom her work-drawer an enormous interminablepiece ofknitting; the young ladies began to play atcribbagewith a dirty pack of cards.  We had but onecandlelightedbut it was in a magnificent old silvercandlestickand after a very few questions from my ladyI had mychoice of amusement between a volume ofsermonsand a pamphlet on the corn-lawswhich Mr.Crawleyhad been reading before dinner.

So we satfor an hour until steps were heard.

"Putaway the cardsgirls" cried my ladyin a greattremor;"put down Mr. Crawley's booksMiss Sharp";and theseorders had been scarcely obeyedwhen Mr.Crawleyentered the room.

"Wewill resume yesterday's discourseyoung ladies"said he"and you shall each read a page by turns; sothat Missa--Miss Short may have an opportunity ofhearingyou"; and the poor girls began to spell a longdismalsermon delivered at Bethesda ChapelLiverpoolon behalfof the mission for the Chickasaw Indians.Was it nota charming evening?

At ten theservants were told to call Sir Pitt and thehouseholdto prayers.  Sir Pitt came in firstvery muchflushedand rather unsteady in his gait; and after himthebutlerthe canariesMr. Crawley's manthree othermensmelling very much of the stableand four womenone ofwhomI remarkedwas very much overdressedand whoflung me a look of great scorn as she plumpeddown onher knees.

After Mr.Crawley had done haranguing andexpoundingwe received our candlesand then wewent tobed; and then I was disturbed in my writingasI havedescribed to my dearest sweetest Amelia.

Goodnight.  A thousandthousandthousand kisses!

Saturday.--Thismorningat fiveI heard theshriekingof the little black pig.  Rose and Violet introducedme to ityesterday; and to the stablesand to the kenneland to thegardenerwho was picking fruit to send tomarketand from whom they begged hard a bunch ofhot-housegrapes; but he said that Sir Pitt had numberedevery "ManJack" of themand it would be as much ashis placewas worth to give any away.  The darling girlscaught acolt in a paddockand asked me if I wouldrideandbegan to ride themselveswhen the groomcomingwith horrid oathsdrove them away.

LadyCrawley is always knitting the worsted.  Sir Pittis alwaystipsyevery night; andI believesits withHorrocksthe butler.  Mr. Crawley always reads sermonsin theeveningand in the morning is locked up in hisstudyorelse rides to Mudburyon county businessor toSquashmorewhere he preacheson WednesdaysandFridaysto the tenants there.

A hundredthousand grateful loves to your dear papaandmamma.  Is your poor brother recovered of his rack-punch? Ohdear! Ohdear! How men should beware ofwickedpunch!

Ever andever thine ownREBECCA

EverythingconsideredI think it is quite as well forour dearAmelia Sedleyin Russell Squarethat MissSharp andshe are parted.  Rebecca is a droll funnycreatureto be sure; and those descriptions of the poor ladyweepingfor the loss of her beautyand the gentleman"withhay-coloured whiskers and straw-coloured hair"are verysmartdoubtlessand show a great knowledgeof theworld.  That she mightwhen on her kneeshavebeenthinking of something better than Miss Horrocks'sribbonshas possibly struck both of us.  But my kindreaderwill please to remember that this history has"VanityFair" for a titleand that Vanity Fair is avery vainwickedfoolish placefull of all sorts ofhumbugsand falsenesses and pretensions.  And while themoralistwho is holding forth on the cover ( an accurateportraitof your humble servant)professes to wearneithergown nor bandsbut only the very same long-earedlivery in which his congregation is arrayed: yetlook youone is bound to speak the truth as far as oneknows itwhether one mounts a cap and bells or a shovelhat; and adeal of disagreeable matter must come outin thecourse of such an undertaking.

I haveheard a brother of the story-telling tradeatNaplespreaching to a pack of good-for-nothing honestlazyfellows by the sea-shorework himself up into such arage andpassion with some of the villains whose wickeddeeds hewas describing and inventingthat the audiencecould notresist it; and they and the poet together wouldburst outinto a roar of oaths and execrations againstthefictitious monster of the taleso that the hat wentroundandthe bajocchi tumbled into itin the midst ofa perfectstorm of sympathy.

At thelittle Paris theatreson the other handyou willnot onlyhear the people yelling out "Ah gredin! Ahmonstre:"and cursing the tyrant of the play from theboxes; butthe actors themselves positively refuse to playthe wickedpartssuch as those of infames AnglaisbrutalCossacksand what notand prefer to appearat asmaller salaryin their real characters as loyalFrenchmen. I set the two stories one against the otherso thatyou may see that it is not from mere mercenarymotivesthat the present performer is desirous to showup andtrounce his villains; but because he has a sincerehatred ofthemwhich he cannot keep downand whichmust finda vent in suitable abuse and bad language.

I warn my"kyind friends" thenthat I am going totell astory of harrowing villainy and complicated--butas Itrustintensely interesting--crime.  My rascals arenomilk-and-water rascalsI promise you.  When we cometo theproper places we won't spare fine language--Nono! Butwhen we are going over the quiet country wemustperforce be calm.  A tempest in a slop-basin isabsurd. We will reserve that sort of thing for the mightyocean andthe lonely midnight.  The present Chapter isverymild.  Others--But we will not anticipate THOSE.

Andas webring our characters forwardI will askleaveasa man and a brothernot only to introducethembutoccasionally to step down from the platformand talkabout them: if they are good and kindlytolove themand shake them by the hand: if they are sillyto laughat them confidentially in the reader's sleeve:if theyare wicked and heartlessto abuse them in thestrongestterms which politeness admits of.

Otherwiseyou might fancy it was I who was sneeringat thepractice of devotionwhich Miss Sharp finds soridiculous;that it was I who laughed good-humouredlyat thereeling old Silenus of a baronet--whereas thelaughtercomes from one who has no reverence exceptforprosperityand no eye for anything beyond success.Suchpeople there are living and flourishing in the world--FaithlessHopelessCharityless: let us have at themdearfriendswith might and main.  Some there areandverysuccessful toomere quacks and fools: and it wasto combatand expose such as thoseno doubtthatLaughterwas made.

CHAPTER IXFamilyPortraits

Sir PittCrawley was a philosopher with a taste for what iscalled lowlife.  His first marriage with the daughter ofthe nobleBinkie had been made under the auspices ofhisparents; and as he often told Lady Crawley in herlifetimeshe was such a confounded quarrelsome high-bredjade thatwhen she died he was hanged if he would ever takeanother ofher sortat her ladyship's demise he kept hispromiseand selected for a second wife Miss Rose Dawsondaughterof Mr. John Thomas Dawsonironmongerof Mudbury.What ahappy woman was Rose to be my Lady Crawley!

Let us setdown the items of her happiness.  In thefirstplaceshe gave up Peter Butta young man whokeptcompany with herand in consequence of hisdisappointmentin lovetook to smugglingpoachingand athousandother bad courses.  Then she quarrelledas indutyboundwith all the friends and intimates of her youthwhoofcoursecould not be received by my Lady atQueen'sCrawley--nor did she find in her new rank andabode anypersons who were willing to welcome her.Who everdid? Sir Huddleston Fuddleston had threedaughterswho all hoped to be Lady Crawley.  Sir GilesWapshot'sfamily were insulted that one of the Wapshotgirls hadnot the preference in the marriageand theremainingbaronets of the county were indignant at theircomrade'smisalliance.  Never mind the commonerswhomwe willleave to grumble anonymously.

Sir Pittdid not careas he saida brass farden forany one ofthem.  He had his pretty Roseand whatmore needa man require than to please himself? So heused toget drunk every night: to beat his pretty Rosesometimes:to leave her in Hampshire when he went toLondon forthe parliamentary sessionwithout a singlefriend inthe wide world.  Even Mrs. Bute CrawleytheRector'swiferefused to visit heras she said she wouldnever givethe pas to a tradesman's daughter.

As theonly endowments with which Nature had giftedLadyCrawley were those of pink cheeks and a whiteskinandas she had no sort of characternor talentsnoropinionsnor occupationsnor amusementsnor thatvigour ofsoul and ferocity of temper which often fallsto the lotof entirely foolish womenher hold upon SirPitt'saffections was not very great.  Her roses faded outof hercheeksand the pretty freshness left her figureafter thebirth of a couple of childrenand she becamea meremachine in her husband's house of no more usethan thelate Lady Crawley's grand piano.  Being a light-complexionedwomanshe wore light clothesas mostblondeswilland appearedin preferencein draggled sea-greenorslatternly sky-blue.  She worked that worstedday andnightor other pieces like it.  She hadcounterpanesin the course of a few years to all the beds inCrawley. She had a small flower-gardenfor which shehad ratheran affection; but beyond this no other likeordisliking.  When her husband was rude to her she wasapathetic:whenever he struck her she cried.  She had notcharacterenough to take to drinkingand moaned aboutslipshodand in curl-papers all day.  0 Vanity Fair--VanityFair! This might have beenbut for youa cheerylass--PeterButt and Rose a happy man and wifein asnug farmwith a hearty family; and an honest portionofpleasurescareshopes and struggles--but a title anda coachand four are toys more precious than happinessin VanityFair: and if Harry the Eighth or Bluebeardwere alivenowand wanted a tenth wifedo you supposehe couldnot get the prettiest girl that shall be presentedthisseason?

Thelanguid dulness of their mamma did notas itmay besupposedawaken much affection in her littledaughtersbut they were very happy in the servants' halland in thestables; and the Scotch gardener havingluckily agood wife and some good childrenthey got alittlewholesome society and instruction in his lodgewhich wasthe only education bestowed upon them untilMiss Sharpcame.

Herengagement was owing to the remonstrances ofMr. PittCrawleythe only friend or protector LadyCrawleyever hadand the only personbesides herchildrenfor whom she entertained a little feebleattachment. Mr. Pitt took after the noble Binkiesfromwhom hewas descendedand was a very polite and propergentleman. When he grew to man's estateand cameback fromChristchurchhe began to reform theslackeneddiscipline of the hallin spite of his fatherwhostood inawe of him.  He was a man of such rigidrefinementthat he would have starved rather than havedinedwithout a white neckcloth.  Oncewhen just fromcollegeand when Horrocks the butler brought him aletterwithout placing it previously on a trayhe gavethatdomestic a lookand administered to him a speechsocuttingthat Horrocks ever after trembled before him;the wholehousehold bowed to him: Lady Crawley's curl-paperscame off earlier when he was at home: Sir Pitt'smuddygaiters disappeared; and if that incorrigible oldman stilladhered to other old habitshe never fuddledhimselfwith rum-and-water in his son's presenceandonlytalked to his servants in a very reserved and politemanner;and those persons remarked that Sir Pitt neverswore atLady Crawley while his son was in the room.

It was hewho taught the butler to say"My lady isserved"and who insisted on handing her ladyship in todinner. He seldom spoke to herbut when he did it waswith themost powerful respect; and he never let herquit theapartment without rising in the most statelymanner toopen the doorand making an elegant bowat heregress.

At Eton hewas called Miss Crawley; and thereIam sorryto sayhis younger brother Rawdon used tolick himviolently.  But though his parts were notbrillianthe made up for his lack of talent by meritoriousindustryand was never knownduring eight years atschooltobe subject to that punishment which it isgenerallythought none but a cherub can escape.

At collegehis career was of course highly creditable.And herehe prepared himself for public lifeinto whichhe was tobe introduced by the patronage of hisgrandfatherLord Binkieby studying the ancient and modernoratorswith great assiduityand by speaking unceasinglyat thedebating societies.  But though he had a fine fluxof wordsand delivered his little voice with greatpomposityand pleasure to himselfand never advancedanysentiment or opinion which was not perfectly trite andstaleandsupported by a Latin quotation; yet he failedsomehowin spite of a mediocrity which ought to haveinsuredany man a success.  He did not even get theprizepoemwhich all his friends said he was sure of.

Afterleaving college he became Private Secretary toLordBinkieand was then appointed Attache to theLegationat Pumpernickelwhich post he filled withperfecthonourand brought home despatchesconsisting ofStrasburgpieto the Foreign Minister of the day.  Afterremainingten years Attache (several years after thelamentedLord Binkie's demise)and finding theadvancementslowhe at length gave up the diplomaticservice insome disgustand began to turn country gentleman.

He wrote apamphlet on Malt on returning to England(for hewas an ambitious manand always likedto bebefore the public)and took a strong part in theNegroEmancipation question.  Then he became a friendof Mr.Wilberforce'swhose politics he admiredand hadthatfamous correspondence with the Reverend SilasHornbloweron the Ashantee Mission.  He was inLondonifnot for the Parliament sessionat least in Mayfor thereligious meetings.  In the country he was amagistrateand an active visitor and speaker among thosedestituteof religious instruction.  He was said to bepaying hisaddresses to Lady Jane SheepshanksLordSouthdown'sthird daughterand whose sisterLady Emilywrotethose sweet tracts"The Sailor's True Binnacle"and "TheApplewoman of Finchley Common."

MissSharp's accounts of his employment at Queen'sCrawleywere not caricatures.  He subjected the servantsthere tothe devotional exercises before mentionedinwhich (andso much the better) he brought his fatherto join. He patronised an Independent meeting-house inCrawleyparishmuch to the indignation of his uncle theRectorand to the consequent delight of Sir Pittwhowasinduced to go himself once or twicewhich occasionedsomeviolent sermons at Crawley parish churchdirectedpoint-blankat the Baronet's old Gothic pew there.  HonestSir Pitthoweverdid not feel the force of thesediscoursesas he always took his nap during sermon-time.

Mr.Crawley was very earnestfor the good of thenation andof the Christian worldthat the old gentlemanshouldyield him up his place in Parliament; but this theelderconstantly refused to do.  Both were of course tooprudent togive up the fifteen hundred a year which wasbrought inby the second seat (at this period filled byMr.Quadroonwith carte blanche on the Slave question);indeed thefamily estate was much embarrassedand theincomedrawn from the borough was of great use to thehouse ofQueen's Crawley.

It hadnever recovered the heavy fine imposed uponWalpoleCrawleyfirst baronetfor peculation in the TapeandSealing Wax Office.  Sir Walpole was a jolly felloweager toseize and to spend money (alieni appetenssuiprofususas Mr. Crawley would remark with a sigh)and in hisday beloved by all the county for theconstantdrunkenness and hospitality which was maintainedat Queen'sCrawley.  The cellars were filled with burgundythenthekennels with houndsand the stables withgallanthunters; nowsuch horses as Queen's Crawleypossessedwent to ploughor ran in the Trafalgar Coach;and it waswith a team of these very horseson an off-daythatMiss Sharp was brought to the Hall; for booras he wasSir Pitt was a stickler for his dignity whileat homeand seldom drove out but with four horsesand thoughhe dined off boiled muttonhad always threefootmen toserve it.

If mereparsimony could have made a man richSirPittCrawley might have become very wealthy--if hehad beenan attorney in a country townwith no capitalbut hisbrainsit is very possible that he would haveturnedthem to good accountand might have achievedforhimself a very considerable influence and competency.But he wasunluckily endowed with a good nameand alarge though encumbered estateboth of whichwentrather to injure than to advance him.  He had ataste forlawwhich cost him many thousands yearly;and beinga great deal too clever to be robbedas hesaidbyany single agentallowed his affairs to bemismanagedby a dozenwhom he all equally mistrusted.He wassuch a sharp landlordthat he could hardly findany butbankrupt tenants; and such a close farmerasto grudgealmost the seed to the groundwhereuponrevengefulNature grudged him the crops which shegranted tomore liberal husbandmen.  He speculated ineverypossible way; he worked mines; bought canal-shares;horsedcoaches; took government contractsand wasthebusiest man and magistrate of his county.  As hewould notpay honest agents at his granite quarryhehad thesatisfaction of finding that four overseers ranawayandtook fortunes with them to America.  For wantof properprecautionshis coal-mines filled with water:thegovernment flung his contract of damaged beef uponhis hands:and for his coach-horsesevery mail proprietorin thekingdom knew that he lost more horses than anyman in thecountryfrom underfeeding and buying cheap.Indisposition he was sociableand far from being proud;nayherather preferred the society of a farmer or ahorse-dealerto that of a gentlemanlike my lordhisson: hewas fond of drinkof swearingof joking withthefarmers' daughters: he was never known to give awaya shillingor to do a good actionbut was of a pleasantslylaughing moodand would cut his joke and drinkhis glasswith a tenant and sell him up the next day;or havehis laugh with the poacher he was transportingwith equalgood humour.  His politeness for the fair sexhasalready been hinted at by Miss Rebecca Sharp--ina wordthe whole baronetagepeeragecommonage ofEnglanddid not contain a more cunningmeanselfishfoolishdisreputable old man.  That blood-red hand ofSir PittCrawley's would be in anybody's pocket excepthis own;and it is with grief and painthatas admirersof theBritish aristocracywe find ourselves obliged toadmit theexistence of so many ill qualities in a personwhose nameis in Debrett.

One greatcause why Mr. Crawley had such a holdover theaffections of his fatherresulted from moneyarrangements. The Baronet owed his son a sum of moneyout of thejointure of his motherwhich he did not finditconvenient to pay; indeed he had an almost invinciblerepugnanceto paying anybodyand could only be broughtby forceto discharge his debts.  Miss Sharp calculated(for shebecameas we shall hear speedilyinductedinto mostof the secrets of the family) that the merepayment ofhis creditors cost the honourable Baronetseveralhundreds yearly; but this was a delight he couldnotforego; he had a savage pleasure in making the poorwretcheswaitand in shifting from court to court andfrom termto term the period of satisfaction.  What's thegood ofbeing in Parliamenthe saidif you must pay yourdebts?Henceindeedhis position as a senator was nota littleuseful to him.

VanityFair--Vanity Fair!  Here was a manwho couldnot spelland did not care to read--who had the habitsand thecunning of a boor: whose aim in life waspettifogging:who never had a tasteor emotionorenjoymentbut what was sordid and foul; and yet he hadrankandhonoursand powersomehow: and was adignitaryof the landand a pillar of the state.  He washighsheriffand rode in a golden coach.  Great ministersandstatesmen courted him; and in Vanity Fair he had ahigherplace than the most brilliant genius or spotlessvirtue.

Sir Pitthad an unmarried half-sister who inherited hermother'slarge fortuneand though the Baronet proposedto borrowthis money of her on mortgageMiss Crawleydeclinedthe offerand preferred the security of the funds.She hadsignifiedhoweverher intention of leaving herinheritancebetween Sir Pitt's second son and the familyat theRectoryand had once or twice paid the debts ofRawdonCrawley in his career at college and in the army.MissCrawley wasin consequencean object of greatrespectwhen she came to Queen's Crawleyfor she hada balanceat her banker's which would have made herbelovedanywhere.

What adignity it gives an old ladythat balance atthebanker's!  How tenderly we look at her faults if sheis arelative (and may every reader have a score of such)what akind good-natured old creature we find her!  Howthe juniorpartner of Hobbs and Dobbs leads her smilingto thecarriage with the lozenge upon itand the fatwheezycoachman! Howwhen she comes to pay us avisitwegenerally find an opportunity to let our friendsknow herstation in the world!  We say (and with perfecttruth) Iwish I had Miss MacWhirter's signature to acheque forfive thousand pounds.  She wouldn't miss itsays yourwife.  She is my auntsay youin an easycarelesswaywhen your friend asks if Miss MacWhirter isanyrelative.  Your wife is perpetually sending her littletestimoniesof affectionyour little girls work endlessworstedbasketscushionsand footstools for her.  What agood firethere is in her room when she comes to payyou avisitalthough your wife laces her stays withoutone! The house during her stay assumes a festiveneatwarmjovialsnug appearance not visible at otherseasons. You yourselfdear sirforget to go to sleep afterdinnerand find yourself all of a sudden (though youinvariablylose) very fond of a rubber.  What gooddinnersyou have--game every dayMalmsey-Madeiraandno end offish from London.  Even the servants in thekitchenshare in the general prosperity; andsomehowduring thestay of Miss MacWhirter's fat coachmanthebeer isgrown much strongerand the consumption of teaand sugarin the nursery (where her maid takes hermeals) isnot regarded in the least.  Is it soor is it notso? I appeal to the middle classes.  Ahgracious powers!I wish youwould send me an old aunt--a maiden aunt--an auntwith a lozenge on her carriageand a frontof lightcoffee-coloured hair--how my children shouldworkworkbags for herand my Julia and I would makehercomfortable! Sweet--sweet vision! Foolish--foolishdream!

CHAPTER XMissSharp Begins to Make Friends

And nowbeing received as a member of the amiablefamilywhose portraits we have sketched in the foregoingpagesitbecame naturally Rebecca's duty to makeherselfas she saidagreeable to her benefactorsand togain theirconfidence to the utmost of her power.  Whocan butadmire this quality of gratitude in an unprotectedorphan;andif there entered some degree of selfishnessinto hercalculationswho can say but that herprudencewas perfectly justifiable?  "I am alone in theworld"said the friendless girl.  "I have nothing to lookfor butwhat my own labour can bring me; and whilethatlittle pink-faced chit Ameliawith not half my sensehas tenthousand pounds and an establishment securepoorRebecca (and my figure is far better than hers)has onlyherself and her own wits to trust to.  Wellletus see ifmy wits cannot provide me with an honourablemaintenanceand if some day or the other I cannot showMissAmelia my real superiority over her.  Not that Idislikepoor Amelia: who can dislike such a harmlessgood-naturedcreature?--only it will be a fine day whenI can takemy place above her in the worldas whyindeedshould I not?"  Thus it was that our littleromanticfriend formed visions of the future for herself--nor mustwe be scandalised thatin all her castles inthe airahusband was the principal inhabitant.  Ofwhat elsehave young ladies to thinkbut husbands? Ofwhat elsedo their dear mammas think?  "I must be myownmamma" said Rebecca; not without a tinglingconsciousnessof defeatas she thought over her littlemisadventurewith Jos Sedley.

So shewisely determined to render her position withtheQueen's Crawley family comfortable and secureandto thisend resolved to make friends of every one aroundher whocould at all interfere with her comfort.

As my LadyCrawley was not one of these personagesand awomanmoreoverso indolent and void ofcharacteras not to be of the least consequence in her ownhouseRebecca soon found that it was not at all necessarytocultivate her good will--indeedimpossible to gain it.  Sheused totalk to her pupils about their "poor mamma"; andthough shetreated that lady with every demonstrationof coolrespectit was to the rest of the family that shewiselydirected the chief part of her attentions.

With theyoung peoplewhose applause she thoroughlygainedher method was pretty simple.  She did notpestertheir young brains with too much learningbuton thecontrarylet them have their own way inregard toeducating themselves; for what instruction is moreeffectualthan self-instruction? The eldest was rather fondof booksand as there was in the old library at Queen'sCrawley aconsiderable provision of works of lightliteratureof the last centuryboth in the French and Englishlanguages(they had been purchased by the Secretaryof theTape and Sealing Wax Office at the period of hisdisgrace)and as nobody ever troubled the book-shelvesbutherselfRebecca was enabled agreeablyandasit werein playingto impart a great deal of instructionto MissRose Crawley.

She andMiss Rose thus read together many delightfulFrench andEnglish worksamong which may bementionedthose of the learned Dr. Smollettof the ingeniousMr. HenryFieldingof the graceful and fantasticMonsieurCrebillon the youngerwhom our immortal poetGray somuch admiredand of the universal Monsieur deVoltaire. Oncewhen Mr. Crawley asked what the youngpeoplewere readingthe governess replied "Smollett.""OhSmollett" said Mr. Crawleyquite satisfied.  "Hishistory ismore dullbut by no means so dangerous asthat ofMr. Hume.  It is history you are reading?" "Yes"said MissRose; withouthoweveradding that it was thehistory ofMr. Humphrey Clinker.  On another occasionhe wasrather scandalised at finding his sister with abook ofFrench plays; but as the governess remarkedthat itwas for the purpose of acquiring the French idiominconversationhe was fain to be content.  Mr. Crawleyas adiplomatistwas exceedingly proud of his own skillinspeaking the French language (for he was of the worldstill)and not a little pleased with the compliments whichthegoverness continually paid him upon his proficiency.

MissViolet's tastes wereon the contrarymore rudeandboisterous than those of her sister.  She knew thesequesteredspots where the hens laid their eggs.  Shecouldclimb a tree to rob the nests of the featheredsongstersof their speckled spoils.  And her pleasure was toride theyoung coltsand to scour the plains like Camilla.She wasthe favourite of her father and of the stablemen.She wasthe darlingand withal the terror of thecook; forshe discovered the haunts of the jam-potsandwouldattack them when they were within her reach.She andher sister were engaged in constant battles.  Anyof whichpeccadilloesif Miss Sharp discoveredshe didnot tellthem to Lady Crawley; who would have toldthem tothe fatheror worseto Mr. Crawley; butpromisednot to tell if Miss Violet would be a good girland loveher governess.

With Mr.Crawley Miss Sharp was respectful andobedient. She used to consult him on passages of Frenchwhich shecould not understandthough her mother wasaFrenchwomanand which he would construe to hersatisfaction:andbesides giving her his aid in profaneliteraturehe was kind enough to select for her booksof a moreserious tendencyand address to her much ofhisconversation.  She admiredbeyond measurehisspeech atthe Quashimaboo-Aid Society; took aninterestin his pamphlet on malt: was often affectedevento tearsby his discourses of an eveningand wouldsay--"Ohthank yousir" with a sighand a look upto heaventhat made him occasionally condescend toshakehands with her.  "Blood is everythingafter all"would thataristocratic religionist say.  "How Miss Sharpisawakened by my wordswhen not one of the peoplehere istouched.  I am too fine for them--too delicate.I mustfamiliarise my style--but she understands it.  Hermother wasa Montmorency."

Indeed itwas from this famous familyas it appearsthat MissSharpby the mother's sidewas descended.Of courseshe did not say that her mother had been onthe stage;it would have shocked Mr. Crawley's religiousscruples. How many noble emigres had this horridrevolutionplunged in poverty!  She had several storiesabout herancestors ere she had been many months inthe house;some of which Mr. Crawley happened to findinD'Hozier's dictionarywhich was in the libraryandwhichstrengthened his belief in their truthand in thehigh-breedingof Rebecca.  Are we to suppose from thiscuriosityand prying into dictionariescould our heroinesupposethat Mr. Crawley was interested in her?--noonly in afriendly way.  Have we not stated that he wasattachedto Lady Jane Sheepshanks?

He tookRebecca to task once or twice about theproprietyof playing at backgammon with Sir Pittsayingthat itwas a godless amusementand that she would bemuchbetter engaged in reading "Thrump's Legacy" or"TheBlind Washerwoman of Moorfields" or any workof a moreserious nature; but Miss Sharp said her dearmotherused often to play the same game with the oldCount deTrictrac and the venerable Abbe du Cornetand sofound an excuse for this and other worldlyamusements.

But it wasnot only by playing at backgammon withtheBaronetthat the little governess rendered herselfagreeableto her employer.  She found many differentways ofbeing useful to him.  She read overwithindefatigablepatienceall those law paperswith whichbefore shecame to Queen's Crawleyhe had promisedtoentertain her.  She volunteered to copy many of hislettersand adroitly altered the spelling of them so asto suitthe usages of the present day.  She becameinterestedin everything appertaining to the estateto thefarmtheparkthe gardenand the stables; and so delightfulacompanion was shethat the Baronet would seldomtake hisafter-breakfast walk without her (and thechildrenof course)when she would give her advice as tothe treeswhich were to be lopped in the shrubberiesthegarden-bedsto be dugthe crops which were to be cutthe horseswhich were to go to cart or plough.  Beforeshe hadbeen a year at Queen's Crawley she had quitewon theBaronet's confidence; and the conversation at thedinner-tablewhich before used to be held between himand Mr.Horrocks the butlerwas now almost exclusivelybetweenSir Pitt and Miss Sharp.  She was almostmistressof the house when Mr. Crawley was absentbutconductedherself in her new and exalted situation withsuchcircumspection and modesty as not to offend theauthoritiesof the kitchen and stableamong whom herbehaviourwas always exceedingly modest and affable.  Shewas quitea different person from the haughtyshydissatisfiedlittle girl whom we have known previouslyandthischange of temper proved great prudencea sinceredesire ofamendmentor at any rate great moral courageon herpart.  Whether it was the heart which dictated thisnew systemof complaisance and humility adopted by ourRebeccais to be proved by her after-history.  A systemofhypocrisywhich lasts through whole yearsis oneseldomsatisfactorily practised by a person of one-and-twenty;howeverour readers will recollectthatthoughyoung inyearsour heroine was old in life and experienceand wehave written to no purpose if they have notdiscoveredthat she was a very clever woman. The elderand younger son of the house of Crawleywerelikethe gentleman and lady in the weather-boxnever athome together--they hated each other cordially:indeedRawdon Crawleythe dragoonhad a greatcontemptfor the establishment altogetherand seldom camethitherexcept when his aunt paid her annual visit. The greatgood quality of this old lady has beenmentioned. She possessed seventy thousand poundsandhad almostadopted Rawdon.  She disliked her elder nephewexceedinglyand despised him as a milksop.  In returnhe did nothesitate to state that her soul was irretrievablylostandwas of opinion that his brother's chancein thenext world was not a whit better.  "She is agodlesswoman of the world" would Mr. Crawley say; "shelives withatheists and Frenchmen.  My mind shudderswhen Ithink of her awfulawful situationand thatnear asshe is to the graveshe should be so given upto vanitylicentiousnessprofanenessand folly." In factthe oldlady declined altogether to hear his hour's lectureof anevening; and when she came to Queen's Crawleyalonehewas obliged to pretermit his usual devotionalexercises. "Shutup your sarmonsPittwhen Miss Crawleycomesdown" said his father; "she has written to saythat shewon't stand the preachifying." "Osir! consider the servants." "Theservants be hanged" said Sir Pitt; and his sonthoughteven worse would happen were they deprived ofthebenefit of his instruction. "Whyhang itPitt!" said the father to his remonstrance."Youwouldn't be such a flat as to let three thousand ayear goout of the family?" "Whatis money compared to our soulssir?" continuedMr.Crawley. "Youmean that the old lady won't leave the moneytoyou?"--and who knows but it was Mr. Crawley'smeaning? Old MissCrawley was certainly one of the reprobate.She had asnug little house in Park Laneandas she ateand dranka great deal too much during the season inLondonshe went to Harrowgate or Cheltenham forthesummer.  She was the most hospitable and jovial ofoldvestalsand had been a beauty in her dayshe said.(All oldwomen were beauties oncewe very well know.)She was abel espritand a dreadful Radical for thosedays. She had been in France (where St. Justthey sayinspiredher with an unfortunate passion)and lovedeverafterFrench novelsFrench cookeryand Frenchwines. She read Voltaireand had Rousseau by heart;talkedvery lightly about divorceand most energeticallyof therights of women.  She had pictures of Mr. Foxin everyroom in the house: when that statesman wasinoppositionI am not sure that she had not flung amain withhim; and when he came into officeshe tookgreatcredit for bringing over to him Sir Pitt and hiscolleaguefor Queen's Crawleyalthough Sir Pitt wouldhave comeover himselfwithout any trouble on the honestlady'spart.  It is needless to say that Sir Pitt was broughtto changehis views after the death of the great Whigstatesman. Thisworthy old lady took a fancy to Rawdon Crawleywhen aboysent him to Cambridge (in opposition tohisbrother at Oxford)andwhen the young man wasrequestedby the authorities of the first-named Universityto quitafter a residence of two yearsshe bought himhiscommission in the Life Guards Green. A perfectand celebrated "blood" or dandy about townwas thisyoung officer.  Boxingrat-huntingthe fives courtandfour-in-hand driving were then the fashion of ourBritisharistocracy; and he was an adept in all thesenoblesciences.  And though he belonged to thehouseholdtroopswhoas it was their duty to rally round thePrinceRegenthad not shown their valour in foreignserviceyetRawdon Crawley had already (apropos ofplayofwhich he was immoderately fond) fought threebloodyduelsin which he gave ample proofs of hiscontemptfor death. "Andfor what follows after death" would Mr.Crawleyobservethrowing his gooseberry-coloured eyesup to theceiling.  He was always thinking of his brother'ssoulorof the souls of those who differed with him inopinion:it is a sort of comfort which many of theseriousgive themselves. Sillyromantic Miss Crawleyfar from being horrifiedat thecourage of her favouritealways used to pay hisdebtsafter his duels; and would not listen to a wordthat waswhispered against his morality.  "He will sowhis wildoats" she would say"and is worth far morethan thatpuling hypocrite of a brother of his."

CHAPTER XIArcadianSimplicity

Besidesthese honest folks at the Hall (whose simplicityand sweetrural purity surely show the advantage of acountrylife over a town one)we must introduce thereader totheir relatives and neighbours at the RectoryButeCrawley and his wife. TheReverend Bute Crawley was a tallstatelyjollyshovel-hattedmanfar more popular in his county thantheBaronet his brother.  At college he pulled stroke-oarin theChristchurch boatand had thrashed all the bestbruisersof the "town." He carried his taste for boxingandathletic exercises into private life; there was not afightwithin twenty miles at which he was not presentnor aracenor a coursing matchnor a regattanor aballnoran electionnor a visitation dinnernor indeeda gooddinner in the whole countybut he found meansto attendit.  You might see his bay mare and gig-lampsa score ofmiles away from his Rectory Housewheneverthere wasany dinner-party at Fuddlestonor at Roxbyor atWapshot Hallor at the great lords of the countywith allof whom he was intimate.  He had a fine voice;sang "Asoutherly wind and a cloudy sky"; and gavethe"whoop" in chorus with general applause.  He rodeto houndsin a pepper-and-salt frockand was one of thebestfishermen in the county. Mrs.Crawleythe rector's wifewas a smart little bodywho wrotethis worthy divine's sermons.  Being of adomesticturnand keeping the house a great deal with herdaughtersshe ruled absolutely within the Rectorywiselygiving herhusband full liberty without.  He was welcometo comeand goand dine abroad as many days as hisfancydictatedfor Mrs. Crawley was a saving woman andknew theprice of port wine.  Ever since Mrs. Bute carriedoff theyoung Rector of Queen's Crawley (she was of agoodfamilydaughter of the late Lieut.-ColonelHectorMcTavishand she and her mother played forBute andwon him at Harrowgate)she had been a prudentandthrifty wife to him.  In spite of her carehoweverhewas alwaysin debt.  It took him at least ten years to payoff hiscollege bills contracted during his father's lifetime.In theyear 179-when he was just clear of theseincumbranceshe gave the odds of 100 to 1 (in twenties)againstKangaroowho won the Derby.  The Rector wasobliged totake up the money at a ruinous interestandhad beenstruggling ever since.  His sister helped him witha hundrednow and thenbut of course his great hope wasin herdeath--when "hang it" (as he would say)"Matildamust leaveme half her money." So thatthe Baronet and his brother had every reasonwhich twobrothers possibly can have for being by theears. Sir Pitt had had the better of Bute in innumerablefamilytransactions.  Young Pitt not only did not huntbutset up ameeting house under his uncle's very nose.Rawdonitwas knownwas to come in for the bulk of MissCrawley'sproperty.  These money transactions--thesespeculationsin life and death--these silent battles forreversionaryspoil--make brothers very loving towardseach otherin Vanity Fair.  Ifor my parthave known afive-poundnote to interpose and knock up a half century'sattachmentbetween two brethren; and can't but admireas I thinkwhat a fine and durable thing Love is amongworldlypeople. It cannotbe supposed that the arrival of such apersonageas Rebecca at Queen's Crawleyand her gradualestablishmentin the good graces of all people therecouldbeunremarked by Mrs. Bute Crawley.  Mrs. Butewhoknew howmany days the sirloin of beef lasted at the Hall;how muchlinen was got ready at the great wash; howmanypeaches were on the south wall; how many dosesherladyship took when she was ill--for such points arematters ofintense interest to certain persons in thecountry--Mrs.ButeI saycould not pass over the Hallgovernesswithout making every inquiry respecting herhistoryand character.  There was always the best understandingbetweenthe servants at the Rectory and the Hall.There wasalways a good glass of ale in the kitchen of theformerplace for the Hall peoplewhose ordinary drinkwas verysmall--andindeedthe Rector's lady knewexactlyhow much malt went to every barrel of Hall beer--ties ofrelationship existed between the Hall and Rectorydomesticsas between their masters; and through thesechannelseach family was perfectly well acquainted withthe doingsof the other.  Thatby the waymay be setdown as ageneral remark.  When you and your brotherarefriendshis doings are indifferent to you.  When youhavequarrelledall his outgoings and incomings youknowasif you were his spy.

Very soonthen after her arrivalRebecca began to takea regularplace in Mrs. Crawley's bulletin from the Hall.It was tothis effect: "The black porker's killed--weighedxstone--salted the sides--pig's pudding and leg of porkfordinner.  Mr. Cramp from Mudburyover with Sir Pittaboutputting John Blackmore in gaol--Mr. Pitt atmeeting(with all the names of the people who attended)--my lady asusual--the young ladies with the governess." Then thereport would come--the new governess be araremanager--Sir Pitt be very sweet on her--Mr.Crawleytoo--He be reading tracts to her--"What anabandonedwretch!" said littleeageractiveblack-faced Mrs.ButeCrawley. Finallythe reports were that the governess had "comeround"everybodywrote Sir Pitt's lettersdid his businessmanagedhis accounts--had the upper hand of the wholehousemyladyMr. Crawleythe girls and all--at whichMrs.Crawley declared she was an artful hussyand hadsomedreadful designs in view.  Thus the doings at theHall werethe great food for conversation at the Rectoryand Mrs.Bute's bright eyes spied out everything that tookplace inthe enemy's camp--everything and a great dealbesides.     Mrs. ButeCrawley to Miss PinkertonThe MallChiswick.

RectoryQueen's CrawleyDecember--.

My DearMadam--Although it is so many years sinceI profitedby your delightful and invaluable instructionsyet I haveever retained the FONDEST and most reverentialregard forMiss Pinkertonand DEAR Chiswick.  I hopeyourhealth is GOOD.  The world and the cause ofeducationcannot afford to lose Miss Pinkerton for MANY MANYYEARS. When my friendLady Fuddlestonmentioned thather deargirls required an instructress (I am too poor toengage agoverness for minebut was I not educated atChiswick?)--"Who"I exclaimed"can we consult buttheexcellentthe incomparable Miss Pinkerton?" In awordhaveyoudear madamany ladies on your listwhoseservices might be made available to my kindfriend andneighbour? I assure you she will take nogovernessBUT OF YOUR CHOOSING. My dearhusband is pleased to say that he likesEVERYTHINGWHICH COMES FROM MISS PINKERTON'SSCHOOL. How I wish I could present him and my belovedgirls tothe friend of my youthand the ADMIRED of thegreatlexicographer of our country! If you ever travel intoHampshireMr. Crawley begs me to sayhe hopes you willadorn ourRURAL RECTORY with your presence.  'Tis thehumble buthappy home of

YouraffectionateMarthaCrawley

P.S. Mr. Crawley's brotherthe baronetwith whomwe arenotalas! upon those terms of UNITY in which itBECOMESBRETHREN TO DWELLhas a governess for hislittlegirlswhoI am toldhad the good fortune to beeducatedat Chiswick.  I hear various reports of her;and as Ihave the tenderest interest in my dearest littlenieceswhom I wishin spite of family differencestosee amongmy own children--and as I long to beattentiveto ANY PUPIL OF YOURS--domy dear MissPinkertontell me the history of this young ladywhomfor YOURSAKEI am most anxious to befriend.--M. C.

MissPinkerton to Mrs. Bute Crawley.

JohnsonHouseChiswickDec. 18--.

DearMadam--I have the honour to acknowledgeyourpolite communicationto which I promptly reply.'Tis mostgratifying to one in my most arduous positionto findthat my maternal cares have elicited a responsiveaffection;and to recognize in the amiable Mrs. ButeCrawley myexcellent pupil of former yearsthe sprightlyandaccomplished Miss Martha MacTavish.  I am happyto haveunder my charge now the daughters of many ofthose whowere your contemporaries at my establishment--whatpleasure it would give me if your ownbelovedyoung ladies had need of my instructivesuperintendence! Presentingmy respectful compliments to LadyFuddlestonI have the honour (epistolarily) to introduceto herladyship my two friendsMiss Tuffin and Miss Hawky. Either ofthese young ladies is PERFECTLY QUALIFIED toinstructin GreekLatinand the rudiments of Hebrew;inmathematics and history; in SpanishFrenchItalianandgeography; in musicvocal and instrumental; indancingwithout the aid of a master; and in theelementsof natural sciences.  In the use of the globes bothareproficients.  In addition to these Miss Tuffinwho isdaughterof the late Reverend Thomas Tuffin (Fellowof CorpusCollegeCambridge)can instruct in theSyriaclanguageand the elements of Constitutional law.But as sheis only eighteen years of ageand ofexceedinglypleasing personal appearanceperhaps thisyoung ladymay be objectionable in Sir HuddlestonFuddleston'sfamily. MissLetitia Hawkyon the other handis notpersonallywell-favoured.  She is-twenty-nine; her faceis muchpitted with the small-pox.  She has a halt in hergaitredhairand a trifling obliquity of vision.  Bothladies areendowed with EVERY MORAL AND RELIGIOUSVIRTUE. Their termsof courseare such as theiraccomplishmentsmerit.  With my most grateful respectsto theReverend Bute CrawleyI have the honour to be

DearMadam     Your mostfaithful and obedient servantBarbaraPinkerton.

P.S. The Miss Sharpwhom you mention asgovernessto Sir Pitt CrawleyBart.M.P.was a pupilof mineand I have nothing to say in her disfavour.Though herappearance is disagreeablewe cannotcontrolthe operations of nature: and though her parentsweredisreputable (her father being a painterseveraltimesbankruptand her motheras I have since learnedwithhorrora dancer at the Opera); yet her talents areconsiderableand I cannot regret that I received herOUT OFCHARITY.  My dread islest the principles of themother--whowas represented to me as a FrenchCountessforced to emigrate in the late revolutionary horrors;but whoas I have since foundwas a person of theverylowest order and morals--should at any time proveto beHEREDITARY in the unhappy young woman whom Itook as ANOUTCAST.  But her principles have hithertobeencorrect (I believe)and I am sure nothing willoccur toinjure them in the elegant and refined circleof theeminent Sir Pitt Crawley.

MissRebecca Sharp to Miss Amelia Sedley.

I have notwritten to my beloved Amelia for thesemany weekspastfor what news was there to tell of thesayingsand doings at Humdrum Hallas I havechristenedit; and what do you care whether the turnip cropis good orbad; whether the fat pig weighed thirteenstone orfourteen; and whether the beasts thrive welluponmangelwurzel? Every day since I last wrote hasbeen likeits neighbour.  Before breakfasta walk withSir Pittand his spud; after breakfast studies (such asthey are)in the schoolroom; after schoolroomreadingandwriting about lawyersleasescoal-minescanalswith SirPitt (whose secretary I am become); afterdinnerMr. Crawley's discourses on the baronet'sbackgammon;during both of which amusements my ladylooks onwith equal placidity.  She has become rathermoreinteresting by being ailing of latewhich hasbrought anew visitor to the Hallin the person of ayoungdoctor.  Wellmy dearyoung women need neverdespair. The young doctor gave a certain friend of yourstounderstand thatif she chose to be Mrs. Glaubershewaswelcome to ornament the surgery! I told hisimpudencethat the gilt pestle and mortar was quiteornamentenough; as if I was bornindeedto be a countrysurgeon'swife! Mr. Glauber went home seriouslyindisposedat his rebufftook a cooling draughtand is nowquitecured.  Sir Pitt applauded my resolution highly;he wouldbe sorry to lose his little secretaryI think;and Ibelieve the old wretch likes me as much as it is inhis natureto like any one.  Marryindeed! and with acountryapothecaryafter--Nonoone cannot sosoonforget old associationsabout which I will talk nomore. Let us return to Humdrum Hall.

For sometime past it is Humdrum Hall no longer.My dearMiss Crawley has arrived with her fat horsesfatservantsfat spaniel--the great rich Miss Crawleywithseventy thousand pounds in the five per cents.whomor Ihad better say WHICHher two brothersadore. She looks very apoplecticthe dear soul; nowonder herbrothers are anxious about her.  You should seethemstruggling to settle her cushionsor to hand hercoffee!"When I come into the country" she says (forshe has agreat deal of humour)"I leave my toadyMissBriggsat home.  My brothers are my toadies heremy dearand a pretty pair they are!" When shecomes into the country our hall is thrownopenandfor a monthat leastyou would fancy oldSirWalpole was come to life again.  We have dinner-partiesand drive out in the coach-and-four
thefootmenput on their newest canary-coloured liveries; wedrinkclaret and champagne as if we were accustomedto itevery day.  We have wax candles in the schoolroomand firesto warm ourselves with.  Lady Crawley is madeto put onthe brightest pea-green in her wardrobeandmy pupilsleave off their thick shoes and tight oldtartanpelissesand wear silk stockings and muslin frocksasfashionable baronets' daughters should.  Rose came inyesterdayin a sad plight--the Wiltshire sow (anenormouspet of hers) ran her downand destroyed a mostlovelyflowered lilac silk dress by dancing over it--hadthishappened a week agoSir Pitt would have swornfrightfullyhave boxed the poor wretch's earsand puther uponbread and water for a month.  All he said was"I'llserve you outMisswhen your aunt's gone" andlaughedoff the accident as quite trivial.  Let us hope hiswrath willhave passed away before Miss Crawley'sdeparture. I hope sofor Miss Rose's sakeI am sure.What acharming reconciler and peacemaker money is! Anotheradmirable effect of Miss Crawley and herseventythousand pounds is to be seen in the conductof the twobrothers Crawley.  I mean the baronet andtherectornot OUR brothers--but the formerwho hateeach otherall the year roundbecome quite loving atChristmas. I wrote to you last year how the abominablehorse-racingrector was in the habit of preaching clumsysermons atus at churchand how Sir Pitt snored inanswer. When Miss Crawley arrives there is no such thingasquarrelling heard of--the Hall visits the Rectoryandviceversa--the parson and the Baronet talk about thepigs andthe poachersand the county businessin themostaffable mannerand without quarrelling in theircupsIbelieve--indeed Miss Crawley won't hear of theirquarrellingand vows that she will leave her money totheShropshire Crawleys if they offend her.  If they werecleverpeoplethose Shropshire Crawleysthey mighthave itallI think; but the Shropshire Crawley is aclergymanlike his Hampshire cousinand mortally offendedMissCrawley (who had fled thither in a fit of rageagainsther impracticable brethren) by some strait-lacednotions ofmorality.  He would have prayers in the houseI believe. Our sermonbooks are shut up when Miss Crawleyarrivesand Mr. Pittwhom she abominatesfinds itconvenientto go to town.  On the other handthe youngdandy--"blood"I believeis the term--Captain Crawleymakes hisappearanceand I suppose you will like toknow whatsort of a person he is. Wellheis a very large young dandy.  He is six feethighandspeaks with a great voice; and swears a greatdeal; andorders about the servantswho all adore himnevertheless;for he is very generous of his moneyandthedomestics will do anything for him.  Last week thekeepersalmost killed a bailiff and his man who camedown fromLondon to arrest the Captainand who werefoundlurking about the Park wall--they beat themduckedthemand were going to shoot them forpoachersbut the baronet interfered. TheCaptain has a hearty contempt for his fatherIcan seeand calls him an old PUTan old SNOBan oldCHAW-BACONand numberless other pretty names.  He hasa DREADFULREPUTATION among the ladies.  He brings hishuntershome with himlives with the Squires of thecountyasks whom he pleases to dinnerand Sir Pittdares notsay nofor fear of offending Miss Crawleyandmissing his legacy when she dies of her apoplexy.Shall Itell you a compliment the Captain paid me?  Imustitis so pretty.  One evening we actually had adance;there was Sir Huddleston Fuddleston and hisfamilySir Giles Wapshot and his young ladiesand Idon't knowhow many more.  WellI heard him say--"ByJoveshe's a neat little filly!" meaning your humbleservant;and he did me the honour to dance two country-danceswith me.  He gets on pretty gaily with the youngSquireswith whom he drinksbetsridesand talksabouthunting and shooting; but he says the countrygirls areBORES; indeedI don't think he is far wrong.You shouldsee the contempt with which they look downon poorme! When they dance I sit and play the pianoverydemurely; but the other nightcoming in ratherflushedfrom the dining-roomand seeing me employedin thiswayhe swore out loud that I was the best dancerin theroomand took a great oath that he would havethefiddlers from Mudbury. "I'llgo and play a country-dance" said Mrs. ButeCrawleyvery readily (she is a littleblack-faced oldwoman in aturbanrather crookedand with verytwinklingeyes); and after the Captain and your poor littleRebeccahad performed a dance togetherdo you knowsheactually did me the honour to compliment me uponmy steps!Such a thing was never heard of before; theproud Mrs.Bute Crawleyfirst cousin to the Earl ofTiptoffwho won't condescend to visit Lady Crawleyexceptwhen her sister is in the country.  Poor LadyCrawley!during most part of these gaietiesshe isupstairstaking pills. Mrs. Butehas all of a sudden taken a great fancy tome. "My dear Miss Sharp" she says"why not bringover yourgirls to the Rectory?--their cousins will be sohappy tosee them." I know what she means.  SignorClementidid not teach us the piano for nothing; atwhichprice Mrs. Bute hopes to get a professor for herchildren. I can see through her schemesas though shetold themto me; but I shall goas I am determined tomakemyself agreeable--is it not a poor governess'sdutywhohas not a friend or protector in the world?TheRector's wife paid me a score of compliments abouttheprogress my pupils madeand thoughtno doubttotouch myheart--poorsimplecountry soul!--as if Icared afig about my pupils! Your Indiamuslin and your pink silkdearest Ameliaare saidto become me very well.  They are a good dealworn now;butyou knowwe poor girls can't afford desfraichestoilettes.  Happyhappy you! who have but todrive toSt. James's Streetand a dear mother who willgive youany thing you ask.  Farewelldearest girl

YouraffectionateRebecca.

P.S.--Iwish you could have seen the faces of theMissBlackbrooks (Admiral Blackbrook's daughtersmydear)fine young ladieswith dresses from LondonwhenCaptain Rawdon selected poor me for a partner!

When Mrs.Bute Crawley (whose artifices our ingeniousRebeccahad so soon discovered) had procured fromMiss Sharpthe promise of a visitshe induced the all-powerfulMiss Crawley to make the necessary applicationto SirPittand the good-natured old ladywho loved tobe gayherselfand to see every one gay and happy roundabout herwas quite charmedand ready to establish areconciliationand intimacy between her two brothers.It wastherefore agreed that the young people of bothfamiliesshould visit each other frequently for the futureand thefriendship of course lasted as long as the jovialoldmediatrix was there to keep the peace. "Whydid you ask that scoundrelRawdon Crawleytodine?"said the Rector to his ladyas they were walkinghomethrough the park.  "I don't want the fellow.  He looksdown uponus country people as so many blackamoors.He's nevercontent unless he gets my yellow-sealed winewhichcosts me ten shillings a bottlehang him! Besideshe's suchan infernal character--he's a gambler--he's adrunkard--he'sa profligate in every way.  He shot a manin aduel--he's over head and ears in debtand he'srobbed meand mine of the best part of Miss Crawley'sfortune. Waxy says she has him"--here the Rector shookhis fistat the moonwith something very like an oathand addedin a melancholious tone"--down in her willfor fiftythousand; and there won't be above thirty todivide." "Ithink she's going" said the Rector's wife.  "She wasvery redin the face when we left dinner.  I was obligedto unlaceher." "Shedrank seven glasses of champagne" said thereverendgentlemanin a low voice; "and filthy champagneit istoothat my brother poisons us with--but youwomennever know what's what." "Weknow nothing" said Mrs. Bute Crawley. "Shedrank cherry-brandy after dinner" continued hisReverence"and took curacao with her coffee.  Iwouldn'ttake a glass for a five-pound note: it kills mewithheartburn.  She can't stand itMrs. Crawley--shemustgo--flesh and blood won't bear it! and I lay five totwoMatilda drops in a year." Indulgingin these solemn speculationsand thinkingabout hisdebtsand his son Jim at Collegeand Frank atWoolwichand the four girlswho were no beautiespoorthingsand would not have a penny but what they got fromthe aunt'sexpected legacythe Rector and his lady walkedon for awhile. "Pittcan't be such an infernal villain as to sell thereversionof the living.  And that Methodist milksop of aneldest sonlooks to Parliament" continued Mr. Crawleyafter apause. "SirPitt Crawley will do anything" said the Rector'swife. "We must get Miss Crawley to make him promise itto James." "Pittwill promise anything" replied the brother.  "Hepromisedhe'd pay my college billswhen my father died;hepromised he'd build the new wing to the Rectory;hepromised he'd let me have Jibb's field and the Six-acreMeadow--and much he executed his promises! Andit's tothis man's son--this scoundrelgamblerswindlermurdererof a Rawdon Crawleythat Matilda leaves thebulk ofher money.  I say it's un-Christian.  By Joveit is.Theinfamous dog has got every vice except hypocrisyand thatbelongs to his brother." "Hushmy dearest love! we're in Sir Pitt's grounds"interposedhis wife. "Isay he has got every viceMrs. Crawley.  Don'tMa'ambully me.  Didn't he shoot Captain Marker? Didn'the robyoung Lord Dovedale at the Cocoa-Tree? Didn'the crossthe fight between Bill Soames and the CheshireTrumpbywhich I lost forty pound? You know he did;and as forthe womenwhyyou heard that before meinmy ownmagistrate's room " "Forheaven's sakeMr. Crawley" said the lady"spareme thedetails." "Andyou ask this villain into your house!" continuedtheexasperated Rector.  "Youthe mother of a youngfamily--thewife of a clergyman of the Church ofEngland. By Jove!" "ButeCrawleyyou are a fool" said the Rector's wifescornfully. "WellMa'amfool or not--and I don't sayMarthaI'm soclever as you areI never did.  But I won't meetRawdonCrawleythat's flat.  I'll go over to Huddlestonthat Iwilland see his black greyhoundMrs. Crawley;and I'llrun Lancelot against him for fifty.  By JoveI will;or againstany dog in England.  But I won't meet thatbeastRawdon Crawley."

"Mr.Crawleyyou are intoxicatedas usual" repliedhis wife. And the next morningwhen the Rector wokeand calledfor small beershe put him in mind of hispromise tovisit Sir Huddleston Fuddleston on Saturdayand as heknew he should have a wet nightit was agreedthat hemight gallop back again in time for church onSundaymorning.  Thus it will be seen that the parishionersof Crawleywere equally happy in their Squire and in theirRector.  MissCrawley had not long been established at the HallbeforeRebecca's fascinations had won the heart of thatgood-naturedLondon rakeas they had of the countryinnocentswhom we have been describing.  Taking heraccustomeddriveone dayshe thought fit to order that"thatlittle governess" should accompany her to Mudbury.Beforethey had returned Rebecca had made a conquestof her;having made her laugh four timesand amused herduring thewhole of the little journey. "Notlet Miss Sharp dine at table!" said she to Sir Pittwho hadarranged a dinner of ceremonyand asked all theneighbouringbaronets.  "My dear creaturedo yousuppose Ican talk about the nursery with Lady Fuddlestonordiscussjustices' business with that gooseold Sir GilesWapshot? Iinsist upon Miss Sharp appearing.  Let LadyCrawleyremain upstairsif there is no room.  But littleMissSharp! Whyshe's the only person fit to talk to inthecounty!" Of courseafter such a peremptory order as thisMissSharpthegovernessreceived commands to dine with theillustriouscompany below stairs.  And when Sir Huddlestonhadwithgreat pomp and ceremonyhanded MissCrawley into dinnerand was preparing to take hisplace byher sidethe old lady cried outin a shrillvoice"Becky Sharp!  Miss Sharp!  Come you and sit byme andamuse me; and let Sir Huddleston sit by LadyWapshot." When theparties were overand the carriages hadrolledawaythe insatiable Miss Crawley would say"Cometo my dressing roomBeckyand let us abuse thecompany"--whichbetween themthis pair of friends didperfectly. Old Sir Huddleston wheezed a great deal atdinner;Sir Giles Wapshot had a particularly noisy mannerofimbibing his soupand her ladyship a wink of the lefteye; allof which Becky caricatured to admiration; as wellas theparticulars of the night's conversation; the politics;the war;the quarter-sessions; the famous run with theH.H.andthose heavy and dreary themesabout whichcountrygentlemen converse.  As for the Misses Wapshot'stoilettesand Lady Fuddleston's famous yellow hatMissSharp torethem to tattersto the infinite amusementof heraudience. "Mydearyou are a perfect trouvaille" Miss Crawleywouldsay.  "I wish you could come to me in Londonbut Icouldn't make a butt of you as I do of poor Briggsnonoyou little sly creature; you are too clever--Isn'tsheFirkin?" Mrs.Firkin (who was dressing the very smallremnant ofhair which remained on Miss Crawley's pate)flung upher head and said"I think Miss is very clever"with themost killing sarcastic air.  In factMrs. Firkinhad thatnatural jealousy which is one of the mainprinciplesof every honest woman. Afterrebuffing Sir Huddleston FuddlestonMissCrawleyordered that Rawdon Crawley should lead her into dinnerevery dayand that Becky should follow with hercushion--orelse she would have Becky's arm andRawdonwith the pillow.  "We must sit together" she said."We'rethe only three Christians in the countymy love"--in whichcaseit must be confessedthat religion wasat a verylow ebb in the county of Hants. Besidesbeing such a fine religionistMiss Crawleywasas wehave saidan Ultra-liberal in opinionsandalwaystook occasion to express these in the most candidmanner. "Whatis birthmy dear!" she would say to Rebecca--"Lookat my brother Pitt; look at the Huddlestonswhohave beenhere since Henry II; look at poor Bute at theparsonage--isany one of them equal to you in intelligenceorbreeding? Equal to you--they are not even equal topoor dearBriggsmy companionor Bowlsmy butler.Youmyloveare a little paragon--positively a littlejewel--Youhave more brains than half the shire--ifmerit hadits reward you ought to be a Duchess--nothereought to be no duchesses at all--but you ought tohave nosuperiorand I consider youmy loveas myequal inevery respect; and--will you put some coals onthe firemy dear; and will you pick this dress of mineandalter ityou who can do it so well?" So this old philanthropistused tomake her equal run of her errandsexecute hermillineryand read her to sleep with French novelseverynight. At thistimeas some old readers may recollectthegenteelworld had been thrown into a considerable stateofexcitement by two eventswhichas the papers saymight giveemployment to the gentlemen of the long robe.EnsignShafton had run away with Lady Barbara Fitzursethe Earlof Bruin's daughter and heiress; and poor VereVaneagentleman whoup to fortyhad maintained amostrespectable character and reared a numerous familysuddenlyand outrageously left his homefor the sake ofMrs.Rougemontthe actresswho was sixty-five yearsof age. "Thatwas the most beautiful part of dear LordNelson'scharacter" Miss Crawley said.  "He went to thedeuce fora woman.  There must be good in a man who willdo that. I adore all impudent matches.--What I likebestisfor a nobleman to marry a miller's daughterasLordFlowerdale did--it makes all the women so angry--I wishsome great man would run away with youmydear; I'msure you're pretty enough." "Twopost-boys!--Ohit would be delightful!" Rebeccaowned. "Andwhat I like next bestis for a poor fellow to runaway witha rich girl.  I have set my heart on Rawdonrunningaway with some one." "Arich some oneor a poor some one?" "Whyyou goose! Rawdon has not a shilling but what Igive him. He is crible de dettes--he must repair hisfortunesand succeed in the world." "Ishe very clever?" Rebecca asked. "Clevermy love?--not an idea in the world beyond hishorsesand his regimentand his huntingand his play;but hemust succeed--he's so delightfully wicked.  Don'tyou knowhe has hit a manand shot an injured fatherthroughthe hat only? He's adored in his regiment; and allthe youngmen at Wattier's and the Cocoa-Tree swear byhim." When MissRebecca Sharp wrote to her beloved friendtheaccount of the little ball at Queen's Crawleyand themanner inwhichfor the first timeCaptain Crawley haddistinguishedhershe did notstrange to relategive analtogetheraccurate account of the transaction.  The Captainhaddistinguished her a great number of times before.  TheCaptainhad met her in a half-score of walks.  The Captainhadlighted upon her in a half-hundred of corridors andpassages. The Captain had hung over her piano twentytimes ofan evening (my Lady was now upstairsbeing illand nobodyheeded her) as Miss Sharp sang.  The Captain hadwrittenher notes (the best that the great blunderingdragooncould devise and spell; but dulness gets onas well asany other quality with women).  But when heput thefirst of the notes into the leaves of the song shewassingingthe little governessrising and looking himsteadilyin the facetook up the triangular missive daintilyand wavedit about as if it were a cocked hatand sheadvancingto the enemypopped the note into the fireandmade him avery low curtseyand went back to herplaceandbegan to sing away again more merrily thanever. "What'sthat?" said Miss Crawleyinterrupted in herafter-dinnerdoze by the stoppage of the music. "It'sa false note" Miss Sharp said with a laugh; andRawdonCrawley fumed with rage and mortification. Seeing theevident partiality of Miss Crawley for thenewgovernesshow good it was of Mrs. Bute Crawley notto bejealousand to welcome the young lady to theRectoryand not only herbut Rawdon Crawleyherhusband'srival in the Old Maid's five per cents! Theybecamevery fond of each other's societyMrs. Crawleyand hernephew.  He gave up hunting; he declinedentertainmentsat Fuddleston: he would not dine with themess ofthe depot at Mudbury: his great pleasure was to strollover toCrawley parsonage--whither Miss Crawley cametoo; andas their mamma was illwhy not the childrenwith MissSharp? So the children (little dears!) came withMissSharp; and of an evening some of the party wouldwalk backtogether.  Not Miss Crawley--she preferred hercarriage--butthe walk over the Rectory fieldsand in atthe littlepark wicketand through the dark plantationand up thecheckered avenue to Queen's Crawleywascharmingin the moonlight to two such lovers of thepicturesqueas the Captain and Miss Rebecca. "Othose starsthose stars!" Miss Rebecca would sayturningher twinkling green eyes up towards them.  "Ifeelmyself almost a spirit when I gaze upon them." "O--ah--Gad--yesso do I exactlyMiss Sharp" theotherenthusiast replied.  "You don't mind my cigardoyouMissSharp?"  Miss Sharp loved the smell of a cigarout ofdoors beyond everything in the world--and she justtasted onetooin the prettiest way possibleand gave alittlepuffand a little screamand a little giggleandrestoredthe delicacy to the Captainwho twirled hismoustacheand straightway puffed it into a blaze thatglowedquite red in the dark plantationand swore--"Jove--aw--Gad--aw--it'sthe finest segaw I ever smoked inthe worldaw" for his intellect and conversation werealikebrilliant and becoming to a heavy young dragoon. Old SirPittwho was taking his pipe and beerandtalking toJohn Horrocks about a "ship" that was to be killedespied thepair so occupied from his study-windowandwithdreadful oaths swore that if it wasn't for MissCrawleyhe'd take Rawdon and bundle un out of doorslike arogue ashe was. "Hebe a bad'nsure enough" Mr. Horrocks remarked;"andhis man Flethers is wussand have made such a rowin thehousekeeper's room about the dinners and haleasno lordwould make--but I think Miss Sharp's a matchfor'nSirPitt" he addedafter a pause.

And sointruthshe was--for father and son too.

CHAPTERXIIQuite aSentimental Chapter

We mustnow take leave of Arcadiaand those amiablepeoplepractising the rural virtues thereand travel backto Londonto inquire what has become of Miss Amelia"Wedon't care a fig for her" writes some unknowncorrespondentwith a pretty little handwriting and a pink sealto hernote.  "She is fade and insipid" and adds some morekindremarks in this strainwhich I should never haverepeatedat allbut that they are in truth prodigiouslycomplimentaryto the young lady whom they concern. Has thebeloved readerin his experience of societyneverheard similar remarks by good-natured femalefriends;who always wonder what you CAN see in MissSmith thatis so fascinating; or what COULD induce MajorJones topropose for that silly insignificant simpering MissThompsonwho has nothing but her wax-doll face torecommendher? What is there in a pair of pink cheeksand blueeyes forsooth? these dear Moralists askand hintwiselythat the gifts of geniusthe accomplishments of themindthemastery of Mangnall's Questionsand a ladylikeknowledgeof botany and geologythe knack of makingpoetrythe power of rattling sonatas in the Herz-mannerand soforthare far more valuable endowments for afemalethan those fugitive charms which a few years willinevitablytarnish.  It is quite edifying to hear womenspeculateupon the worthlessness and the duration ofbeauty. But thoughvirtue is a much finer thingand thosehaplesscreatures who suffer under the misfortune of goodlooksought to be continually put in mind of the fatewhichawaits them; and thoughvery likelythe heroicfemalecharacter which ladies admire is a more gloriousandbeautiful object than the kindfreshsmilingartlesstenderlittle domestic goddesswhom men are inclinedtoworship--yet the latter and inferior sort of womenmust havethis consolation--that the men do admire themafter all;and thatin spite of all our kind friends' warningsandprotestswe go on in our desperate error andfollyandshall to the end of the chapter.  Indeedfor myown partthough I have been repeatedly told by personsfor whom Ihave the greatest respectthat Miss Brown isaninsignificant chitand Mrs. White has nothing but herpetitminois chiffonneand Mrs. Black has not a word tosay forherself; yet I know that I have had the mostdelightfulconversations with Mrs. Black (of coursemydearMadamthey are inviolable): I see all the men in aclusterround Mrs. White's chair: all the young fellowsbattlingto dance with Miss Brown; and so I am temptedto thinkthat to be despised by her sex is a very greatcomplimentto a woman. The youngladies in Amelia's society did this for herverysatisfactorily.  For instancethere was scarcely anypoint uponwhich the Misses OsborneGeorge's sistersand theMesdemoiselles Dobbin agreed so well as in theirestimateof her very trifling merits: and their wonder thattheirbrothers could find any charms in her.  "We are kindto her"the Misses Osborne saida pair of fine black-browedyoung ladies who had had the best of governessesmastersand milliners; and they treated her withsuchextreme kindness and condescensionand patronisedher soinsufferablythat the poor little thing was in factperfectlydumb in their presenceand to all outwardappearanceas stupid as they thought her.  She made effortsto likethemas in duty boundand as sisters of herfuturehusband.  She passed "long mornings" with them--the mostdreary and serious of forenoons.  She droveoutsolemnly in their great family coach with themandMiss Wirttheir governessthat raw-boned Vestal.  Theytook herto the ancient concerts by way of a treatandto theoratorioand to St. Paul's to see the charitychildrenwhere in such terror was she of her friendsshealmost didnot dare be affected by the hymn the childrensang. Their house was comfortable; their papa's tablerich andhandsome; their society solemn and genteel;theirself-respect prodigious; they had the best pew attheFoundling: all their habits were pompous and orderlyand alltheir amusements intolerably dull and decorous.Afterevery one of her visits (and oh how glad she waswhen theywere over!) Miss Osborne and Miss MariaOsborneand Miss Wirtthe vestal governessasked eachother withincreased wonder"What could George find inthatcreature?" How isthis? some carping reader exclaims.  How is itthatAmeliawho had such a number of friends atschooland was so beloved therecomes out into theworld andis spurned by her discriminating sex? My dearsirtherewere no men at Miss Pinkerton's establishmentexcept theold dancing-master; and you would not havehad thegirls fall out about HIM? When Georgetheirhandsomebrotherran off directly after breakfastanddined fromhome half-a-dozen times a weekno wondertheneglected sisters felt a little vexation.  When youngBullock(of the firm of HulkerBullock & Co.BankersLombardStreet)who had been making up to Miss Mariathe lasttwo seasonsactually asked Amelia to dance thecotilloncould you expect that the former young ladyshould bepleased? And yet she said she waslike anartlessforgiving creature.  "I'm so delighted you like dearAmelia"she said quite eagerly to Mr. Bullock after thedance. "She's engaged to my brother George; there's notmuch inherbut she's the best-natured and mostunaffectedyoung creature: at home we're all so fond of her."Dear girl!who can calculate the depth of affectionexpressedin that enthusiastic SO? Miss Wirtand these two affectionate young women soearnestlyand frequently impressed upon GeorgeOsborne'smind the enormity of the sacrifice he was makingand hisromantic generosity in throwing himself awayuponAmeliathat I'm not sure but that he really thoughthe was oneof the most deserving characters in the Britisharmyandgave himself up to be loved with a good dealof easyresignation. Somehowalthough he left home every morningas wasstatedand dined abroad six days in the weekwhen hissistersbelieved the infatuated youth to be at Miss Sedley'sapron-strings:he was NOT always with Ameliawhilst theworldsupposed him at her feet.  Certain it is that on moreoccasionsthan onewhen Captain Dobbin called to lookfor hisfriendMiss Osborne (who was very attentive totheCaptainand anxious to hear his military storiesandto knowabout the health of his dear Mamma)wouldlaughinglypoint to the opposite side of the squareandsay"Ohyou must go to the Sedleys' to ask for George;WE neversee him from morning till night." At which kindof speechthe Captain would laugh in rather an absurdconstrainedmannerand turn off the conversationlikeaconsummate man of the worldto some topic of generalinterestsuch as the Operathe Prince's last ball atCarltonHouseor the weather--that blessing to society. "Whatan innocent it isthat pet of yours" Miss Mariawould thensay to Miss Janeupon the Captain'sdeparture. "Did you see how he blushed at the mention ofpoorGeorge on duty?" "It'sa pity Frederick Bullock hadn't some of hismodestyMaria" replies the elder sisterwith a toss of hehead. "Modesty! Awkwardness you meanJane.  I don't wantFrederickto trample a hole in my muslin frockasCaptainDobbin did in yours at Mrs. Perkins'." "InYOUR frockhehe!  How could he? Wasn't hedancingwith Amelia?" The factiswhen Captain Dobbin blushed soandlooked soawkwardhe remembered a circumstance ofwhich hedid not think it was necessary to inform theyoungladiesviz.that he had been calling at Mr. Sedley'shousealreadyon the pretence of seeing Georgeofcourseand George wasn't thereonly poor little Ameliawithrather a sad wistful faceseated near the drawing-roomwindowwhoafter some very trifling stupid talkventuredto askwas there any truth in the report thattheregiment was soon to be ordered abroad; and hadCaptainDobbin seen Mr. Osborne that day? Theregiment was not ordered abroad as yet; andCaptainDobbin had not seen George.  "He was with hissistermost likely" the Captain said.  "Should he go andfetch thetruant?"  So she gave him her hand kindly andgratefully:and he crossed the square; and she waitedandwaitedbut George never came. Poorlittle tender heart! and so it goes on hoping andbeatingand longing and trusting.  You see it is not muchof a lifeto describe.  There is not much of what you callincidentin it.  Only one feeling all day--when will hecome? onlyone thought to sleep and wake upon.  IbelieveGeorge was playing billiards with Captain Cannonin SwallowStreet at the time when Amelia was askingCaptainDobbin about him; for George was a jollysociablefellowand excellent in all games of skill. Onceafter three days of absenceMiss Amelia put onherbonnetand actually invaded the Osborne house."What!leave our brother to come to us?" said the youngladies. "Have you had a quarrelAmelia? Do tell us!"Noindeedthere had been no quarrel.  "Who couldquarrelwith him?" says shewith her eyes filled with tears.She onlycame over to--to see her dear friends; they hadnot metfor so long.  And this day she was so perfectlystupid andawkwardthat the Misses Osborne and theirgovernesswho stared after her as she went sadly awaywonderedmore than ever what George could see in poorlittleAmelia. Of coursethey did.  How was she to bare that timidlittleheart for the inspection of those young ladies withtheir boldblack eyes? It was best that it should shrinkand hideitself.  I know the Misses Osborne were excellentcritics ofa Cashmere shawlor a pink satin slip; andwhen MissTurner had hers dyed purpleand made intoa spencer;and when Miss Pickford had her erminetippettwisted into a muff and trimmingsI warrant you thechangesdid not escape the two intelligent young womenbeforementioned.  But there are thingslook youof afinertexture than fur or satinand all Solomon's gloriesand allthe wardrobe of the Queen of Sheba--thingswhereofthe beauty escapes the eyes of manyconnoisseurs. And there are sweet modest little souls onwhich youlightfragrant and blooming tenderly in quiet shadyplaces;and there are garden-ornamentsas big as brasswarming-pansthat are fit to stare the sun itself out ofcountenance. Miss Sedley was not of the sunflower sort;and I sayit is out of the rules of all proportion to drawa violetof the size of a double dahlia. Noindeed; the life of a good young girl who is in thepaternalnest as yetcan't have many of those thrillingincidentsto which the heroine of romance commonly laysclaim. Snares or shot may take off the old birds foragingwithout--hawksmay be abroadfrom which they escapeor by whomthey suffer; but the young ones in the nesthave apretty comfortable unromantic sort of existencein thedown and the strawtill it comes to their turntootoget on the wing.  While Becky Sharp was on herown wingin the countryhopping on all sorts of twigsand amid amultiplicity of trapsand pecking up her foodquiteharmless and successfulAmelia lay snug in herhome ofRussell Square; if she went into the worlditwas underthe guidance of the elders; nor did it seemthat anyevil could befall her or that opulent cheerycomfortablehome in which she was affectionately sheltered.Mamma hadher morning dutiesand her daily driveand thedelightful round of visits and shopping whichforms theamusementor the profession as you may callitof therich London lady.  Papa conducted hismysteriousoperations in the City--a stirring place in thosedayswhenwar was raging all over Europeand empireswere beingstaked; when the "Courier" newspaper hadtens ofthousands of subscribers; when one day broughtyou abattle of Vittoriaanother a burning of Moscoworanewsman's horn blowing down Russell Square aboutdinner-timeannounced such a fact as--"Battle ofLeipsic--sixhundred thousand men engaged--totaldefeat ofthe French--two hundred thousand killed." OldSedleyonce or twice came home with a very grave face;and nowonderwhen such news as this was agitating allthe heartsand all the Stocks of Europe. Meanwhilematters went on in Russell SquareBloomsburyjust as ifmatters in Europe were not in the leastdisorganised. The retreat from Leipsic made nodifferencein the number of meals Mr. Sambo took in theservants'hall; the allies poured into Franceand thedinner-belIrang at five o'clock just as usual.  I don't thinkpoorAmelia cared anything about Brienne and Montmirailor wasfairly interested in the war until the abdicationof theEmperor; when she clapped her hands and saidprayers--ohhow grateful! and flung herself into GeorgeOsborne'sarms with all her soulto the astonishment ofeverybodywho witnessed that ebullition of sentiment.The factispeace was declaredEurope was going to beat rest;the Corsican was overthrownand LieutenantOsborne'sregiment would not be ordered on service.  Thatwas theway in which Miss Amelia reasoned.  The fate ofEurope wasLieutenant George Osborne to her.  Hisdangersbeing overshe sang Te Deum.  He was her Europe:heremperor: her allied monarchs and august princeregent. He was her sun and moon; and I believe shethoughtthe grand illumination and ball at the MansionHousegiven to the sovereignswere especially in honourof GeorgeOsborne.

 We havetalked of shiftselfand povertyas thosedismalinstructors under whom poor Miss Becky Sharpgot hereducation.  Nowlove was Miss Amelia Sedley'slasttutoressand it was amazing what progress our younglady madeunder that popular teacher.  In the course offifteen oreighteen months' daily and constant attention tothiseminent finishing governesswhat a deal of secretsAmelialearnedwhich Miss Wirt and the black-eyedyoungladies over the waywhich old Miss Pinkerton ofChiswickherselfhad no cognizance of!  Asindeedhowshould anyof those prim and reputable virgins?  WithMisses P.and W. the tender passion is out of thequestion:I would not dare to breathe such an idea regardingthem. Miss Maria Osborneit is truewas "attached" toMr.Frederick Augustus Bullockof the firm of HulkerBullock &Bullock; but hers was a most respectableattachmentand she would have taken Bullock Senior justthe sameher mind being fixed--as that of a well-bredyoungwoman should be--upon a house in Park Lanea countryhouse at Wimbledona handsome chariotandtwoprodigious tall horses and footmenand a fourth ofthe annualprofits of the eminent firm of Hulker &Bullockall of which advantages were represented in theperson ofFrederick Augustus.  Had orange blossoms beeninventedthen (those touching emblems of female purityimportedby us from Francewhere people's daughtersareuniversally sold in marriage)Miss MariaI saywould haveassumed the spotless wreathand stepped intothetravelling carriage by the side of goutyoldbald-headedbottle-nosed Bullock Senior; and devoted herbeautifulexistence to his happiness with perfect modesty--only theold gentleman was married already; so shebestowedher young affections on the junior partner.Sweetbloomingorange flowers!  The other day I sawMissTrotter (that was)arrayed in themtrip into thetravellingcarriage at St. George'sHanover SquareandLordMethuselah hobbled in after.  With what an engagingmodestyshe pulled down the blinds of the chariot--thedearinnocent!  There were half the carriages of VanityFair atthe wedding. This wasnot the sort of love that finished Amelia'seducation;and in the course of a year turned a good younggirl intoa good young woman--to be a good wifepresentlywhen the happy time should come.  This youngperson(perhaps it was very imprudent in her parents toencourageherand abet her in such idolatry and sillyromanticideas) lovedwith all her heartthe youngofficer inHis Majesty's service with whom we have made abriefacquaintance.  She thought about him the very firstmoment onwaking; and his was the very last namementionedm her prayers.  She never had seen a man sobeautifulor so clever: such a figure on horseback: sucha dancer:such a hero in general.  Talk of the Prince'sbow! whatwas it to George's? She had seen Mr.Brummellwhom everybody praised so.  Compare such a personas that toher George! Not amongst all the beaux at theOpera (andthere were beaux in those days with actualoperahats) was there any one to equal him.  He was onlygoodenough to be a fairy prince; and ohwhatmagnanimityto stoop to such a humble Cinderella!  MissPinkertonwould have tried to check this blind devotionverylikelyhad she been Amelia's confidante; but notwith muchsuccessdepend upon it.  It is in the nature andinstinctof some women.  Some are made to schemeandsome tolove; and I wish any respected bachelor thatreads thismay take the sort that best likes him. Whileunder this overpowering impressionMiss Amelianeglectedher twelve dear friends at Chiswick mostcruellyas such selfish people commonly will do.  She hadbut thissubjectof courseto think about; and MissSaltirewas too cold for a confidanteand she couldn'tbring hermind to tell Miss Swartzthe woolly-hairedyoungheiress from St. Kitt's.  She had little Laura Martinhome forthe holidays; and my belief isshe made aconfidanteof herand promised that Laura should comeand livewith her when she was marriedand gave Lauraa greatdeal of information regarding the passion oflovewhich must have been singularly useful and novelto thatlittle person.  Alasalas!  I fear poor Emmy hadnot awell-regulated mind. What wereher parents doingnot to keep this littleheart frombeating so fast?  Old Sedley did not seem muchto noticematters.  He was graver of lateand his Cityaffairsabsorbed him.  Mrs. Sedley was of so easy anduninquisitivea nature that she wasn't even jealous.  Mr.Jos wasawaybeing besieged by an Irish widow atCheltenham. Amelia had the house to herself--ah! toomuch toherself sometimes--not that she ever doubted;forto besureGeorge must be at the Horse Guards;and hecan't always get leave from Chatham; and he mustsee hisfriends and sistersand mingle in society whenin town(hesuch an ornament to every society!); andwhen he iswith the regimenthe is too tired to write longletters. I know where she kept that packet she had--andcan stealin and out of her chamber like Iachimo--likeIachimo? No--that is a bad part.  I will only actMoonshineand peep harmless into the bed where faith andbeauty andinnocence lie dreaming. But ifOsborne's were short and soldierlike lettersitmust beconfessedthat were Miss Sedley's letters to Mr.Osborne tobe publishedwe should have to extend thisnovel tosuch a multiplicity of volumes as not the mostsentimentalreader could support; that she not only filledsheets oflarge paperbut crossed them with the mostastonishingperverseness; that she wrote whole pages outofpoetry-books without the least pity; that sheunderlinedwords and passages with quite a frantic emphasis;andinfinegave the usual tokens of her condition.  Shewasn't aheroine.  Her letters were full of repetition.  Shewroterather doubtful grammar sometimesand in herversestook all sorts of liberties with the metre.  But ohmesdamesif you are not allowed to touch the heartsometimesin spite of syntaxand are not to be loveduntil youall know the difference between trimeter andtetrametermay all Poetry go to the deuceand everyschoolmasterperish miserably!

CHAPTERXIIISentimentaland Otherwise

I fear thegentleman to whom Miss Amelia's letters wereaddressedwas rather an obdurate critic.  Such a numberof notesfollowed Lieutenant Osborne about the countrythat hebecame almost ashamed of the jokes of hismess-roomcompanions regarding themand ordered hisservantnever to deliver them except at his private apartment.He wasseen lighting his cigar with oneto the horror ofCaptainDobbinwhoit is my beliefwould have givenabank-note for the document. For sometime George strove to keep the liaison asecret. There was a woman in the casethat he admitted."Andnot the first either" said Ensign Spooney to EnsignStubble. "That Osborne's a devil of a fellow.  There was ajudge'sdaughter at Demerara went almost mad abouthim; thenthere was that beautiful quadroon girlMissPyeatSt. Vincent'syou know; and since he's beenhometheysay he's a regular Don Giovanniby Jove." Stubbleand Spooney thought that to be a "regularDonGiovanniby Jove" was one of the finest qualities aman couldpossessand Osborne's reputation wasprodigiousamongst the young men of the regiment.  Hewas famousin field-sportsfamous at a songfamous onparade;free with his moneywhich was bountifullysuppliedby his father.  His coats were better made thanany man'sin the regimentand he had more of them.  Hewas adoredby the men.  He could drink more than anyofficer ofthe whole messincluding old Heavytopthecolonel. He could spar better than Knucklesthe private(who wouldhave been a corporal but for his drunkennessand whohad been in the prize-ring); and was the bestbatter andbowlerout and outof the regimental club.He rodehis own horseGreased Lightningand won theGarrisoncup at Quebec races.  There were other peoplebesidesAmelia who worshipped him.  Stubble andSpooneythought him a sort of Apollo; Dobbin took himto be anAdmirable Crichton; and Mrs. Major O'Dowdacknowledgedhe was an elegant young fellowand puther inmind of Fitzjurld FogartyLord Castlefogarty'ssecondson. WellStubble and Spooney and the rest indulged inmostromantic conjectures regarding this femalecorrespondentof Osborne's--opining that it was a Duchess inLondon whowas in love with him--or that it was aGeneral'sdaughterwho was engaged to somebody elseand madlyattached to him--or that it was a Member ofParliament'sladywho proposed four horses and anelopement--orthat it was some other victim of a passiondelightfullyexcitingromanticand disgraceful to allpartieson none of which conjectures would Osborne throwthe leastlightleaving his young admirers and friends toinvent andarrange their whole history. And thereal state of the case would never have beenknown atall in the regiment but for Captain Dobbin'sindiscretion. The Captain was eating his breakfast oneday in themess-roomwhile Cacklethe assistant-surgeonand thetwo above-named worthies were speculating uponOsborne'sintrigue--Stubble holding out that the ladywas aDuchess about Queen Charlotte's courtand Cacklevowing shewas an opera-singer of the worst reputation.At thisidea Dobbin became so movedthat though hismouth wasfull of eggs and bread-and-butter at the timeand thoughhe ought not to have spoken at allyet hecouldn'thelp blurting out"Cackleyou're a stupid fool.You'realways talking nonsense and scandal.  Osborne isnot goingto run off with a Duchess or ruin a milliner.MissSedley is one of the most charming young womenthat everlived.  He's been engaged to her ever so long;and theman who calls her names had better not do soin myhearing." With whichturning exceedingly redDobbinceased speakingand almost choked himself witha cup oftea.  The story was over the regiment in half-an-hour; andthat very evening Mrs. Major O'Dowd wroteoff to hersister Glorvina at O'Dowdstown not to hurryfromDublin--young Osborne being prematurely engagedalready. Shecomplimented the Lieutenant in an appropriatespeechover a glass of whisky-toddy that eveningand hewent homeperfectly furious to quarrel with Dobbin (whohaddeclined Mrs. Major O'Dowd's partyand sat in hisown roomplaying the fluteandI believewriting poetryin a verymelancholy manner)--to quarrel with Dobbinforbetraying his secret. "Whothe deuce asked you to talk about my affairs?"Osborneshouted indignantly.  "Why the devil is all theregimentto know that I am going to be married? Why isthattattling old harridanPeggy O'Dowdto make freewith myname at her d--d supper-tableand advertisemyengagement over the three kingdoms? After allwhatright haveyou to say I am engagedor to meddle in mybusinessat allDobbin?" "Itseems to me" Captain Dobbin began. "Seemsbe hangedDobbin" his junior interruptedhim. "I am under obligations to youI know ita d--ddeal toowell too; but I won't be always sermonised byyoubecause you're five years my senior.  I'm hanged ifI'll standyour airs of superiority and infernal pity andpatronage. Pity and patronage! I should like to know inwhat I'myour inferior?" "Areyou engaged?" Captain Dobbin interposed.  "Whatthe devil's that to you or any one here if I am?" "Areyou ashamed of it?" Dobbin resumed. "Whatright have you to ask me that questionsir? Ishouldlike to know" George said. "GoodGodyou don't mean to say you want to breakoff?"asked Dobbinstarting up. "Inother wordsyou ask me if I'm a man of honour"saidOsbornefiercely; "is that what you mean? You'veadoptedsuch a tone regarding me lately that I'm --if I'llbear it any more." "Whathave I done? I've told you you were neglectinga sweetgirlGeorge.  I've told you that when you go totown youought to go to herand not to the gambling-housesabout St. James's." "Youwant your money backI suppose" said Georgewith asneer. "Ofcourse I do--I always diddidn't I?" says Dobbin."Youspeak like a generous fellow." "Nohang itWilliamI beg your pardon"--hereGeorgeinterposed in a fit of remorse; "you have been myfriend ina hundred waysHeaven knows.  You've got meout of ascore of scrapes.  When Crawley of the Guardswon thatsum of money of me I should have been donebut foryou: I know I should.  But you shouldn't deal sohardlywith me; you shouldn't be always catechising me.I am veryfond of Amelia; I adore herand that sort ofthing. Don't look angry.  She's faultless; I know she is.But yousee there's no fun in winning a thing unless youplay forit.  Hang it: the regiment's just back from theWestIndiesI must have a little flingand then when I'mmarriedI'll reform; I will upon my honournow.  And--Isay--Dob--don'tbe angry with meand I'll give you ahundrednext monthwhen I know my father will standsomethinghandsome; and I'll ask Heavytop for leaveand I'llgo to townand see Amelia to-morrow--therenowwillthat satisfy you?" "Itis impossible to be long angry with youGeorge"said thegood-natured Captain; "and as for the moneyold boyyou know if I wanted it you'd share your lastshillingwith me." "ThatI wouldby JoveDobbin" George saidwiththegreatest generositythough by the way he never hadany moneyto spare. "OnlyI wish you had sown those wild oats of yoursGeorge. If you could have seen poor little Miss Emmy'sface whenshe asked me about you the other dayyouwould havepitched those billiard-balls to the deuce.  Goandcomfort heryou rascal.  Go and write her a longletter. Do something to make her happy; a very little will." "Ibelieve she's d--d fond of me" the Lieutenant saidwith aself-satisfied air; and went off to finish the eveningwith somejolly fellows in the mess-room. Ameliameanwhilein Russell Squarewas looking atthe moonwhich was shining upon that peaceful spotaswell asupon the square of the Chatham barrackswhereLieutenantOsborne was quarteredand thinking toherselfhow her hero was employed.  Perhaps he is visitingthesentriesthought she; perhaps he is bivouacking;perhaps heis attending the couch of a wounded comradeorstudyingthe art of war up in his own desolate chamber.And herkind thoughts sped away as if they were angelsand hadwingsand flying down the river to ChathamandRochesterstrove to peep into the barracks whereGeorgewas. . . . All things consideredI think it wasas wellthe gates were shutand the sentry allowed noone topass; so that the poor little white-robed angelcould nothear the songs those young fellows wereroaringover the whisky-punch. The dayafter the little conversation at Chathambarracksyoung Osborneto show that he would be as goodas hiswordprepared to go to townthereby incurringCaptainDobbin's applause.  "I should have liked to make hera littlepresent" Osborne said to his friend in confidence"onlyI am quite out of cash until my father tips up." ButDobbinwould not allow this good nature and generosityto bebalkedand so accommodated Mr. Osborne with afew poundnoteswhich the latter took after a little faintscruple. And I daresay he would have bought something veryhandsomefor Amelia; onlygetting off the coach in FleetStreethewas attracted by a handsome shirt-pin in ajeweller'swindowwhich he could not resist; and havingpaid forthathad very little money to spare for indulgingin anyfurther exercise of kindness.  Never mind: you maybe sure itwas not his presents Amelia wanted.  When hecame toRussell Squareher face lighted up as if he hadbeensunshine.  The little caresfearstearstimidmisgivingssleepless fancies of I don't know how many daysandnightswere forgottenunder one moment's influenceof thatfamiliarirresistible smile.  He beamed on herfrom thedrawing-room door--magnificentwithambrosialwhiskerslike a god.  Sambowhose face as heannouncedCaptain Osbin (having conferred a brevet rankon thatyoung officer) blazed with a sympathetic grinsawthe littlegirl startand flushand jump up from herwatching-placein the window; and Sambo retreated: andas soon asthe door was shutshe went fluttering toLieutenantGeorge Osborne's heart as if it was the only naturalhome forher to nestle in.  Ohthou poor panting littlesoul! The very finest tree in the whole forestwith thestraighteststemand the strongest armsand thethickestfoliagewherein you choose to build and coomaybe markedfor what you knowand may be down with acrash erelong.  What an oldold simile that isbetweenman andtimber! In themeanwhileGeorge kissed her very kindly onherforehead and glistening eyesand was very graciousand good;and she thought his diamond shirt-pin (whichshe hadnot known him to wear before) the prettiestornamentever seen.

Theobservant readerwho has marked our youngLieutenant'sprevious behaviourand has preserved ourreport ofthe brief conversation which he has just hadwithCaptain Dobbinhas possibly come to certainconclusionsregarding the character of Mr. Osborne.  SomecynicalFrenchman has said that there are two parties toalove-transaction: the one who loves and the other whocondescendsto be so treated.  Perhaps the love isoccasionallyon the man's side; perhaps on the lady's.Perhapssome infatuated swain has ere this mistakeninsensibilityfor modestydulness for maiden reservemerevacuityfor sweet bashfulnessand a goosein a wordfor aswan.  Perhaps some beloved female subscriber hasarrayed anass in the splendour and glory of herimagination;admired his dulness as manly simplicity;worshippedhis selfishness as manly superiority; treated hisstupidityas majestic gravityand used him as thebrilliantfairy Titania did a certain weaver at Athens.  I thinkI haveseen such comedies of errors going on in theworld. But this is certainthat Amelia believed her loverto be oneof the most gallant and brilliant men in theempire:and it is possible Lieutenant Osborne thoughtso too.

He was alittle wild: how many young men are; anddon'tgirls like a rake better than a milksop?  He hadn'tsown hiswild oats as yetbut he would soon: and quitthe armynow that peace was proclaimed; the Corsicanmonsterlocked up at Elba; promotion by consequenceover; andno chance left for the display of his undoubtedmilitarytalents and valour: and his allowancewithAmelia'ssettlementwould enable them to take a snugplace inthe country somewherein a good sportingneighbourhood;and he would hunt a littleand farm alittle;and they would be very happy.  As for remainingin thearmy as a married manthat was impossible.Fancy Mrs.George Osborne in lodgings in a countytown; orworse stillin the East or West Indieswith asociety ofofficersand patronized by Mrs. Major O'Dowd!Ameliadied with laughing at Osborne's stories aboutMrs. MajorO'Dowd.  He loved her much too fondly tosubjecther to that horrid woman and her vulgaritiesand therough treatment of a soldier's wife.  He didn'tcare forhimself--not he; but his dear little girl shouldtake theplace in society to whichas his wifeshe wasentitled:and to these proposals you may be sure sheaccededas she would to any other from the same author.  Holdingthis kind of conversationand buildingnumberlesscastles in the air (which Amelia adorned with allsorts offlower-gardensrustic walkscountry churchesSundayschoolsand the like; while George had hismind's eyedirected to the stablesthe kenneland thecellar)this young pair passed away a couple of hoursverypleasantly; and as the Lieutenant had only thatsingle dayin townand a great deal of most importantbusinessto transactit was proposed that Miss Emmy shoulddine withher future sisters-in-law.  This invitation wasacceptedjoyfully.  He conducted her to his sisters; wherehe lefther talking and prattling in a way that astonishedthoseladieswho thought that George might makesomethingof her; and he then went off to transacthisbusiness.  In a wordhe went out and ate ices at a pastry-cook'sshop inCharing Cross; tried a new coat in Pall Mall;dropped inat the Old Slaughters'and called for CaptainCannon;played eleven games at billiards with theCaptainof which he won eightand returned to RussellSquarehalf an hour late for dinnerbut in very goodhumour.

It was notso with old Mr. Osborne.  When thatgentlemancame from the Cityand was welcomed in thedrawing-roomby his daughters and the elegant MissWirttheysaw at once by his face--which was puffysolemnand yellow at the best of times--and by thescowl andtwitching of his black eyebrowsthat the heartwithin hislarge white waistcoat was disturbed anduneasy. When Amelia stepped forward to salute himwhichshe alwaysdid with great trembling and timidityhe gavea surlygrunt of recognitionand dropped the little handout of hisgreat hirsute paw without any attempt to holdit there. He looked round gloomily at his eldest daughter;whocomprehending the meaning of his lookwhichaskedunmistakably"Why the devil is she here?" saidat once: "Georgeis in townPapa; and has gone to the HorseGuardsand will be back to dinner." "O heisis he? I won't have the dinner kept waitingfor himJane"; with which this worthy man lapsed intohisparticular chairand then the utter silence in hisgenteelwell-furnished drawing-room was onlyinterruptedby the alarmed ticking of the great French clock. When thatchronometerwhich was surmounted by acheerfulbrass group of the sacrifice of Iphigeniatolledfive in aheavy cathedral toneMr. Osborne pulled thebell athis right hand-violentlyand the butler rushed up. "Dinner!"roared Mr. Osborne. "Mr.George isn't come insir" interposed the man. "DamnMr. Georgesir.  Am I master of the house?DINNER!~Mr. Osborne scowled.  Amelia trembled.  Atelegraphiccommunication of eyes passed between the otherthreeladies.  The obedient bell in the lower regions beganringingthe announcement of the meal.  The tolling overthe headof the family thrust his hands into the greattail-pocketsof his great blue coat with brass buttonsandwithoutwaiting for a further announcement strodedownstairsalonescowling over his shoulder at the fourfemales. "What'sthe matter nowmy dear?" asked one of theotherasthey rose and tripped gingerly behind the sire. "Isuppose the funds are falling" whispered Miss Wirt;and sotrembling and in silencethis hushed femalecompanyfollowed their dark leader.  They took their placesinsilence.  He growled out a blessingwhich sounded asgruffly asa curse.  The great silver dish-covers wereremoved. Amelia trembled in her placefor she was nextto theawful Osborneand alone on her side of the table--the gapbeing occasioned by the absence of George. "Soup?"says Mr. Osborneclutching the ladlefixinghis eyeson herin a sepulchral tone; and having helpedher andthe restdid not speak for a while. "TakeMiss Sedley's plate away" at last he said.  "Shecan't eatthe soup--no more can I.  It's beastly.  Take awaythe soupHicksand to-morrow turn the cook out ofthe houseJane." Havingconcluded his observations upon the soupMr.Osbornemade a few curt remarks respecting the fishalso of asavage and satirical tendencyand cursedBillingsgatewith an emphasis quite worthy of the place.Then helapsed into silenceand swallowed sundryglasses ofwinelooking more and more terribletill abriskknock at the door told of George's arrival wheneverybodybegan to rally. "Hecould not come before.  General Daguilet had kepthimwaiting at the Horse Guards.  Never mind soup orfish. Give him anything--he didn't care what.  Capitalmutton--capitaleverything." His good humour contrastedwith hisfather's severity; and he rattled on unceasinglyduringdinnerto the delight of all--of one especiallywho neednot be mentioned. As soon asthe young ladies had discussed the orangeand theglass of wine which formed the ordinaryconclusionof the dismal banquets at Mr. Osborne's housethe signalto make sail for the drawing-room was givenand theyall arose and departed.  Amelia hoped Georgewould soonjoin them there.  She began playing some ofhisfavourite waltzes (then newly imported) at the greatcarved-leggedleather-cased grand piano in the drawing-roomoverhead.  This little artifice did not bring him.  Hewas deafto the waltzes; they grew fainter and fainter;thediscomfited performer left the huge instrumentpresently;and though her three friends performed some oftheloudest and most brilliant new pieces of theirrepertoireshe did not hear a single notebut sate thinkingand bodingevil.  Old Osborne's scowlterrific alwayshadneverbefore looked so deadly to her.  His eyes followedher out ofthe roomas if she had been guilty of something.When theybrought her coffeeshe started asthough itwere a cup of poison which Mr. Hicksthebutlerwished to propose to her.  What mystery wastherelurking? Ohthose women!  They nurse and cuddletheirpresentimentsand make darlings of their ugliestthoughtsas they do of their deformed children. The gloomon the paternal countenance had alsoimpressedGeorge Osborne with anxiety.  With sucheyebrowsand a look so decidedly bilioushow was he toextractthat money from the governorof which Georgewasconsumedly in want? He began praising his father'swine. That was generally a successful means of cajolingthe oldgentleman. "Wenever got such Madeira in the West Indiessirasyours. Colonel Heavytop took off three bottles of that yousent medownunder his belt the other day." "Didhe?" said the old gentleman.  "It stands me ineightshillings a bottle." "Willyou take six guineas a dozen for itsir?" saidGeorgewith a laugh.  "There's one of the greatest men inthekingdom wants some." "Doeshe?" growled the senior.  "Wish he may get it." "WhenGeneral Daguilet was at ChathamsirHeavytopgave him abreakfastand asked me for some of thewine. The General liked it just as well--wanted a pipefor theCommander-in-Chief.  He's his Royal Highness'sright-handman." "Itis devilish fine wine" said the Eyebrowsand theylookedmore good-humoured; and George was going totakeadvantage of this complacencyand bring thesupplyquestion on the mahoganywhen the fatherrelapsingintosolemnitythough rather cordial in mannerbadehim ringthe bell for claret.  "And we'll see if that's asgood asthe MadeiraGeorgeto which his RoyalHighnessis welcomeI'm sure.  And as we are drinking itI'll talkto you about a matter of importance." Ameliaheard the claret bell ringing as she satnervouslyupstairs.  She thoughtsomehowit was amysteriousand presentimental bell.  Of the presentimentswhich somepeople are always havingsome surelymust comeright. "WhatI want to knowGeorge" the old gentlemansaidafter slowly smacking his first bumper--"what Iwant toknow ishow you and--ah--that little thingupstairsare carrying on?" "Ithinksirit is not hard to see" George saidwith aself-satisfiedgrin.  "Pretty clearsir.--What capital wine!" "Whatd'you meanpretty clearsir?" "Whyhang itsirdon't push me too hard.  I'm amodestman.  I--ah--I don't set up to be a lady-killer;but I doown that she's as devilish fond of me as shecan be. Anybody can see that with half an eye." "Andyou yourself?" "Whysirdidn't you order me to marry herand ain'tI a goodboy? Haven't our Papas settled it ever so long?" "Apretty boyindeed.  Haven't I heard of your doingssirwithLord TarquinCaptain Crawley of the Guards~theHonourable Mr. Deuceace and that set.  Have a caresirhavea care." The oldgentleman pronounced these aristocraticnames withthe greatest gusto.  Whenever he met a greatman hegrovelled before himand my-lorded him as onlyafree-born Briton can do.  He came home and lookedout hishistory in the Peerage: he introduced his nameinto hisdaily conversation; he bragged about hisLordshipto his daughters.  He fell down prostrate and baskedin him asa Neapolitan beggar does in the sun.  Georgewasalarmed when he heard the names.  He feared hisfathermight have been informed of certain transactionsat play. But the old moralist eased him by sayingserenely: "Wellwellyoung men will be young men.  And thecomfort tome isGeorgethat living in the best societyinEnglandas I hope you do; as I think you do; as mymeans willallow you to do--"

"Thankyousir" says Georgemaking his point atonce. "One can't live with these great folks for nothing;and mypursesirlook at it"; and he held up a littletokenwhich had been netted by Ameliaand containedthe verylast of Dobbin's pound notes. "Youshan't wantsir.  The British merchant's sonshan'twantsir.  My guineas are as good as theirsGeorgemyboy; and I don't grudge 'em.  Call on Mr.Chopper asyou go through the City to-morrow; he'llhavesomething for you.  I don't grudge money when Iknowyou're in good societybecause I know that goodsocietycan never go wrong.  There's no pride in me.  Iwas ahumbly born man--but you have had advantages.Make agood use of 'em.  Mix with the young nobility.There'smany of 'em who can't spend a dollar to yourguineamyboy.  And as for the pink bonnets (here fromunder theheavy eyebrows there came a knowing and notverypleasing leer)--why boys will be boys.  Only there'sone thingI order you to avoidwhichif you do notI'llcut youoff with a shillingby Jove; and that's gambling

 "Ohof coursesir" said George. "Butto return to the other business about Amelia:whyshouldn't you marry higher than a stockbroker'sdaughterGeorge--that's what I want to know?" "It'sa family businesssir".says Georgecrackingfilberts. "You and Mr. Sedley made the match a hundredyearsago." "Idon't deny it; but people's positions altersir.  I don'tdeny thatSedley made my fortuneor rather put me inthe way ofacquiringby my own talents and geniusthatproudpositionwhichI may sayI occupy in the tallowtrade andthe City of London.  I've shown my gratitudeto Sedley;and he's tried it of latesiras my cheque-bookcan show. George!  I tell you in confidence I don'tlike thelooks of Mr. Sedley's affairs.  My chief clerkMr.Chopperdoes not like the looks of 'emand he's anold fileand knows 'Change as well as any man inLondon. Hulker & Bullock are looking shy at him.  He's beendabblingon his own account I fear.  They say the JeuneAmelie washiswhich was taken by the YankeeprivateerMolasses.  And that's flat--unless I see Amelia's tenthousanddown you don't marry her.  I'll have no lameduck'sdaughter in my family.  Pass the winesir--orring forcoffee." With whichMr. Osborne spread out the eveningpaperandGeorge knew from this signal that thecolloquywas endedand that his papa was about totake anap. He hurriedupstairs to Amelia in the highest spirits.What wasit that made him more attentive to her on thatnight thanhe had been for a long time--more eager toamuse hermore tendermore brilliant in talk?  Was itthat hisgenerous heart warmed to her at the prospect ofmisfortune;or that the idea of losing the dear little prizemade himvalue it more? She livedupon the recollections of that happy eveningfor manydays afterwardsremembering his words; hislooks; thesong he sang; his attitudeas he leant over heror lookedat her from a distance.  As it seemed to herno nightever passed so quickly at Mr. Osborne's housebefore;and for once this young person was almostprovokedto be angry by the premature arrival of Mr.Sambo withher shawl. Georgecame and took a tender leave of her the nextmorning;and then hurried off to the Citywhere hevisitedMr. Chopperhis father's head manand receivedfrom thatgentleman a document which he exchanged atHulker &Bullock's for a whole pocketful of money.  AsGeorgeentered the houseold John Sedley was passingout of thebanker's parlourlooking very dismal.  But hisgodson wasmuch too elated to mark the worthystockbroker'sdepressionor the dreary eyes which the kindoldgentleman cast upon him.  Young Bullock did notcomegrinning out of the parlour with him as had beenhis wontin former years. And as theswinging doors of HulkerBullock & Co.closedupon Mr. SedleyMr. Quillthe cashier (whosebenevolentoccupation it is to hand out crisp bank-notesfrom adrawer and dispense sovereigns out of a coppershovel)winked at Mr. Driverthe clerk at the desk onhisright.  Mr. Driver winked again. "Nogo" Mr. D. whispered.

"Notat no price" Mr. Q. said.  "Mr. George Osborne sirhow will you take it?" George crammed eagerly aquantityof notes into his pocketsand paid Dobbin fiftypoundsthat very evening at mess. That veryevening Amelia wrote him the tenderest oflongletters.  Her heart was overflowing with tendernessbut itstill foreboded evil.  What was the cause of Mr.Osborne'sdark looks? she asked.  Had any differencearisenbetween him and her papa? Her poor papareturnedso melancholy from the Citythat all werealarmedabout him at home--in finethere were fourpages ofloves and fears and hopes and forebodings. "Poorlittle Emmy--dear little Emmy.  How fond sheis of me"George saidas he perused the missive--"andGadwhata headache that mixed punch has given me!"Poorlittle Emmyindeed.

CHAPTERXIVMissCrawley at Home

About thistime there drove up to an exceedingly snugandwell-appointed house in Park Lanea travelling chariotwith alozenge on the panelsa discontented female in agreen veiland crimped curls on the rumbleand a largeandconfidential man on the box.  It was the equipage ofour friendMiss Crawleyreturning from Hants.  Thecarriagewindows were shut; the fat spanielwhose head andtongueordinarily lolled out of one of themreposed on thelap of thediscontented female.  When the vehicle stoppeda largeround bundle of shawls was taken out of thecarriageby the aid of various domestics and a younglady whoaccompanied the heap of cloaks.  That bundlecontainedMiss Crawleywho was conveyed upstairsforthwithand put into a bed and chamber warmed properlyas for thereception of an invalid.  Messengers went offfor herphysician and medical man.  They cameconsultedprescribedvanished.  The young companion ofMissCrawleyat the conclusion of their interviewcamein toreceive their instructionsand administered thoseantiphlogisticmedicines which the eminent men ordered. CaptainCrawley of the Life Guards rode up fromKnightsbridgeBarracks the next day; his black chargerpawed thestraw before his invalid aunt's door.  He wasmostaffectionate in his inquiries regarding that amiablerelative. There seemed to be much source of apprehension.He foundMiss Crawley's maid (the discontentedfemale)unusually sulky and despondent; he found MissBriggsher dame de compagniein tears alone in thedrawing-room. She had hastened homehearing of herbelovedfriend's illness.  She wished to fly to her couchthat couchwhich sheBriggshad so often smoothed inthe hourof sickness.  She was denied admission to MissCrawley'sapartment.  A stranger was administering hermedicines--astranger from the country--an odious Miss. ..--tears choked the utterance of the dame decompagnieand she buried her crushed affections and herpoor oldred nose in her pocket handkerchief. RawdonCrawley sent up his name by the sulky femmedechambreand Miss Crawley's new companioncomingtrippingdown from the sick-roomput a little hand intohis as hestepped forward eagerly to meet hergave aglance ofgreat scorn at the bewildered Briggsandbeckoningthe young Guardsman out of the back drawing-roomledhim downstairs into that now desolate dining-parlourwhere so many a good dinner had beencelebrated. Here thesetwo talked for ten minutesdiscussingnodoubtthesymptoms of the old invalid above stairs; atthe end ofwhich period the parlour bell was rung brisklyandanswered on that instant by Mr. BowlsMissCrawley'slarge confidential butler (whoindeedhappened tobe at thekeyhole during the most part of the interview);and theCaptain coming outcurling his mustachiosmountedthe black charger pawing among the strawtotheadmiration of the little blackguard boys collected inthestreet.  He looked in at the dining-room windowmanaginghis horsewhich curvetted and capered beautifully--for oneinstant the young person might be seen at thewindowwhen her figure vanishedanddoubtlessshewentupstairs again to resume the affecting duties ofbenevolence. Who couldthis young woman beI wonder?  Thatevening alittle dinner for two persons was laid in the dining-room--whenMrs. Firkinthe lady's maidpushed into hermistress'sapartmentand bustled about there duringthevacancy occasioned by the departure of the newnurse--andthe latter and Miss Briggs sat down to theneatlittle meal. Briggs wasso much choked by emotion that she couldhardlytake a morsel of meat.  The young person carved afowl withthe utmost delicacyand asked so distinctly foregg-saucethat poor Briggsbefore whom that deliciouscondimentwas placedstartedmade a great clatteringwith theladleand once more fell back in the mostgushinghysterical state. "Hadyou not better give Miss Briggs a glass of wine?"said theperson to Mr. Bowlsthe large confidential man.He didso.  Briggs seized it mechanicallygasped it downconvulsivelymoaned a littleand began to play with thechicken onher plate. "Ithink we shall be able to help each other" saidthe personwith great suavity: "and shall have no needof Mr.Bowls's kind services.  Mr. Bowlsif you pleasewe willring when we want you." He went downstairswherebythe wayhe vented the most horrid cursesupon theunoffending footmanhis subordinate. "Itis a pity you take on soMiss Briggs" the younglady saidwith a coolslightly sarcasticair. "Mydearest friend is so illand wo--o--on't seeme"gurgled out Briggs in an agony of renewed grief. "She'snot very ill any more.  Console yourselfdearMissBriggs.  She has only overeaten herself--that is all.She isgreatly better.  She will soon be quite restored again.She isweak from being cupped and from medicaltreatmentbut she will rally immediately.  Pray consoleyourselfand take a little more wine." "Butwhywhy won't she see me again?" Miss Briggsbleatedout.  "OhMatildaMatildaafter three-and-twentyyears' tenderness! is this the return to your poorpoorArabella?" "Don'tcry too muchpoor Arabella" the other said(with everso little of a grin); "she only won't see youbecauseshe says you don't nurse her as well as I do.It's nopleasure to me to sit up all night.  I wish youmight doit instead." "HaveI not tended that dear couch for years?"Arabellasaid"and now--" "Nowshe prefers somebody else.  Wellsick peoplehave thesefanciesand must be humoured.  When she'swell Ishall go." "Nevernever" Arabella exclaimedmadly inhaling hersalts-bottle. "Neverbe well or never goMiss Briggs?" the othersaidwiththe same provoking good-nature.  "Pooh--shewill bewell in a fortnightwhen I shall go back to mylittlepupils at Queen's Crawleyand to their motherwho is agreat deal more sick than our friend.  You neednot bejealous about memy dear Miss Briggs.  I am apoorlittle girl without any friendsor any harm in me.I don'twant to supplant you in Miss Crawley's goodgraces. She will forget me a week after I am gone: andheraffection for you has been the work of years.  Giveme alittle wine if you pleasemy dear Miss Briggsand let usbe friends.  I'm sure I want friends." Theplacable and soft-hearted Briggs speechlesslypushed outher hand at this appeal; but she felt thedesertionmost keenly for all thatand bitterlybitterlymoaned thefickleness of her Matilda.  At the end of halfan hourthe meal overMiss Rebecca Sharp (for suchastonishingto stateis the name of her who has beendescribedingeniously as "the person" hitherto)wentupstairsagain to her patient's roomsfrom whichwiththe mostengaging politenessshe eliminated poor Firkin."ThankyouMrs. Firkinthat will quite do; how nicelyyou makeit! I will ring when anything is wanted." "Thankyou";and Firkin came downstairs in a tempest ofjealousyonly the more dangerous because she was forcedto confineit in her own bosom.  Could itbe the tempest whichas she passed thelanding ofthe first floorblew open the drawing-room door?No; it wasstealthily opened by the hand of Briggs.Briggs hadbeen on the watch. Briggs too well heard thecreakingFirkin descend the stairsand the clink of thespoon andgruel-basin the neglected female carried. "WellFirkin?" says sheas the other entered theapartment."WellJane?" "Wussand wussMiss B." Firkin saidwagging herhead. "Isshe not better then?" "Shenever spoke but onceand I asked her if she felta littlemore easyand she told me to hold my stupidtongue.OhMiss B.I never thought to have seen thisday!" And the water-works again began to play. "Whatsort of a person is this Miss SharpFirkin? Ilittlethoughtwhile enjoying my Christmas revels in theeleganthome of my firm friendsthe Reverend LionelDelamereand his amiable ladyto find a stranger hadtaken myplace in the affections of my dearestmy stilldearestMatilda!"  Miss Briggsit will be seen by herlanguagewas of a literary and sentimental turnand hadoncepublished a volume of poems--"Trills of theNightingale"--bysubscription. "MissB.they are all infatyated about that youngwoman"Firkin replied. "Sir Pitt wouldn't have let hergobut hedaredn't refuse Miss Crawley anything. Mrs.Bute atthe Rectory jist as bad--never happy out of hersight. TheCapting quite wild about her. Mr. Crawleymortialjealous. Since Miss C. was took illshe won'thavenobody near her but Miss SharpI can't tell forwhere norfor why; and I think somethink has bewidgedeverybody." Rebeccapassed that night in constant watching uponMissCrawley; the next night the old lady slept socomfortablythat Rebecca had time for several hours'comfortablerepose herself on the sofaat the foot of herpatroness'sbed; very soonMiss Crawley was so wellthat shesat up and laughed heartily at a perfectimitationof Miss Briggs and her griefwhich Rebeccadescribedto her. Briggs' weeping snuffleand her mannerof usingthe handkerchiefwere so completely renderedthat MissCrawley became quite cheerfulto theadmirationof the doctors when they visited herwho usuallyfound thisworthy woman of the worldwhen the leastsicknessattacked herunder the most abject depressionand terrorof death. CaptainCrawley came every dayand received bulletinsfrom MissRebecca respecting his aunt's health.Thisimproved so rapidlythat poor Briggs was allowedto see herpatroness; and persons with tender heartsmayimagine the smothered emotions of that sentimentalfemaleand the affecting nature of the interview. MissCrawley liked to have Briggs in a good dealsoon. Rebecca used to mimic her to her face with themostadmirable gravitythereby rendering the imitationdoublypiquant to her worthy patroness.

The causeswhich had led to the deplorable illness ofMissCrawleyand her departure from her brother'shouse inthe countrywere of such an unromantic naturethat theyare hardly fit to be explained in this genteelandsentimental novel.  For how is it possible to hint of adelicatefemaleliving in good societythat she ate anddrank toomuchand that a hot supper of lobstersprofuselyenjoyed at the Rectory was the reason of anindispositionwhich Miss Crawley herself persisted wassolelyattributable to the dampness of the weather?  Theattack wasso sharp that Matilda--as his Reverenceexpressedit--was very nearly "off the hooks"; all thefamilywere in a fever of expectation regarding the willand RawdonCrawley was making sure of at least fortythousandpounds before the commencement of theLondonseason.  Mr. Crawley sent over a choice parcel oftractstoprepare her for the change from Vanity Fairand ParkLane for another world; but a good doctorfromSouthampton being called in in timevanquishedthelobster which was so nearly fatal to herand gavehersufficient strength to enable her to return to London.TheBaronet did not disguise his exceeding mortificationat theturn which affairs took. Whileeverybody was attending on Miss Crawleyandmessengersevery hour from the Rectory were carryingnews ofher health to the affectionate folks theretherewas a ladyin another part of the housebeing exceedinglyillofwhom no one took any notice at all; and this wasthe ladyof Crawley herself.  The good doctor shook hishead afterseeing her; to which visit Sir Pitt consentedas itcould be paid without a fee; and she was left fadingaway inher lonely chamberwith no more heed paid toher thanto a weed in the park. The youngladiestoolost much of the inestimablebenefit oftheir governess's instructionSo affectionate anurse wasMiss Sharpthat Miss Crawley would takehermedicines from no other hand.  Firkin had beendeposedlong before her mistress's departure from thecountry. That faithful attendant found a gloomy consolationonreturning to Londonin seeing Miss Briggs sufferthe samepangs of jealousy and undergo the samefaithlesstreatment to which she herself had been subject. CaptainRawdon got an extension of leave on hisaunt'sillnessand remained dutifully at home.  He wasalways inher antechamber.  (She lay sick in the statebedroominto which you entered by the little bluesaloon.)His father was always meeting him there; or if hecame downthe corridor ever so quietlyhis father'sdoor wassure to openand the hyena face of the oldgentlemanto glare out.  What was it set one to watchthe otherso?  A generous rivalryno doubtas to whichshould bemost attentive to the dear sufferer in the statebedroom. Rebecca used to come out and comfort bothof them;or one or the other of them rather.  Both oftheseworthy gentlemen were most anxious to have newsof theinvalid from her little confidential messenger. Atdinner--to which meal she descended for half anhour--shekept the peace between them: after which shedisappearedfor the night; when Rawdon would ride overto thedepot of the 150th at Mudburyleaving his papato thesociety of Mr. Horrocks and his rum and water.She passedas weary a fortnight as ever mortal spent inMissCrawley's sick-room; but her little nerves seemedto be ofironas she was quite unshaken by the duty andthe tediumof the sick-chamber. She nevertold until long afterwards how painful thatduty was;how peevish a patient was the jovial old lady;how angry;how sleepless; in what horrors of death;duringwhat long nights she lay moaningand in almostdeliriousagonies respecting that future world which shequiteignored when she was in good health.--Picture toyourselfoh fair young readera worldlyselfishgracelessthanklessreligionless old womanwrithing in painand fearand without her wig.  Picture her to yourselfand ereyou be oldlearn to love and pray! Sharpwatched this graceless bedside with indomitablepatience. Nothing escaped her; andlike a prudent stewardshe founda use for everything.  She told many agood storyabout Miss Crawley's illness in after days--storieswhich made the lady blush through her artificialcarnations. During the illness she was never out oftemper;always alert; she slept lighthaving a perfectly clearconscience;and could take that refreshment at almostanyminute's warning.  And so you saw very few traces offatigue inher appearance.  Her face might be a triflepalerandthe circles round her eyes a little blacker thanusual; butwhenever she came out from the sick-roomshe wasalways smilingfreshand neatand looked astrim inher little dressing-gown and capas in hersmartestevening suit. TheCaptain thought soand raved about her inuncouthconvulsions.  The barbed shaft of love hadpenetratedhis dull hide.  Six weeks--appropinquity--opportunity--hadvictimised him completely.  He made aconfidanteof his aunt at the Rectoryof all persons in theworld. She rallied him about it; she had perceived hisfolly; shewarned him; she finished by owning that littleSharp wasthe most cleverdrolloddgood-naturedsimplekindly creature in England.  Rawdon must nottriflewith her affectionsthough--dear Miss Crawleywouldnever pardon him for that; for shetoowas quiteovercomeby the little governessand loved Sharp like adaughter. Rawdon must go away--go back to hisregimentand naughty Londonand not play with a poorartlessgirl's feelings. Many andmany a time this good-natured ladycompassionatingthe forlorn life-guardsman's conditiongave himan opportunity of seeing Miss Sharp at the Rectoryand ofwalking home with heras we have seen.  Whenmen of acertain sortladiesare in lovethough theysee thehook and the stringand the whole apparatuswith whichthey are to be takenthey gorge the baitnevertheless--theymust come to it--they must swallowit--andare presently struck and landed gasping.  Rawdonsaw therewas a manifest intention on Mrs. Bute's parttocaptivate him with Rebecca.  He was not very wise;but he wasa man about townand had seen severalseasons. A light dawned upon his dusky soulas he thoughtthrough aspeech of Mrs. Bute's. "Markmy wordsRawdon" she said.  "You will haveMiss Sharpone day for your relation." "Whatrelation--my cousinheyMrs. Bute? Jamessweet onherhey?" inquired the waggish officer. "Morethan that" Mrs. Bute saidwith a flash fromher blackeyes. "NotPitt?  He sha'n't have her.  The sneak a'n'tworthy ofher.  He's booked to Lady Jane Sheepshanks." "Youmen perceive nothing.  You sillyblind creature--ifanything happens to Lady CrawleyMiss Sharp willbe yourmother-in-law; and that's what will happen." RawdonCrawleyEsquiregave vent to a prodigiouswhistlein token of astonishment at this announcement.Hecouldn't deny it.  His father's evident liking for MissSharp hadnot escaped him.  He knew the old gentleman'scharacterwell; and a more unscrupulous old--whyou--he did notconclude the sentencebut walked homecurlinghis mustachiosand convinced he had found aclue toMrs. Bute's mystery. "ByJoveit's too bad" thought Rawdon"too badbyJove! I dobelieve the woman wants the poor girl to beruinedinorder that she shouldn't come into the familyas LadyCrawley." When hesaw Rebecca alonehe rallied her about hisfather'sattachment in his graceful way.  She flung up herheadscornfullylooked him full in the faceand said "Wellsuppose he is fond of me.  I know he isandotherstoo.  You don't think I am afraid of himCaptainCrawley? You don't suppose I can't defend my ownhonour"said the little womanlooking as stately as aqueen. "Ohahwhy--give you fair warning--look outyouknow--that'sall" said the mustachio-twiddler. "Youhint at something not honourablethen?" saidsheflashing out.

"OGad--really--Miss Rebecca" the heavy dragooninterposed. "Doyou suppose I have no feeling of self-respectbecause Iam poor and friendlessand because rich peoplehavenone?  Do you thinkbecause I am a governessIhave notas much senseand feelingand good breedingas yougentlefolks in Hampshire? I'm a Montmorency.Do yousuppose a Montmorency is not as good as aCrawley?" When MissSharp was agitatedand alluded to hermaternalrelativesshe spoke with ever so slight aforeignaccentwhich gave a great charm to her clearringingvoice.  "No" she continuedkindling as she spoke totheCaptain; "I can endure povertybut not shame--neglectbut not insult; and insult from--from you." Herfeelings gave wayand she burst into tears. "HangitMiss Sharp--Rebecca--by Jove--upon mysoulIwouldn't for a thousand pounds.  StopRebecca!" She wasgone.  She drove out with Miss Crawley thatday. It was before the latter's illness.  At dinner she wasunusuallybrilliant and lively; but she would take nonotice ofthe hintsor the nodsor the clumsy expostulationsof thehumiliatedinfatuated guardsman.  Skirmishesof thissort passed perpetually during the little campaign--tediousto relateand similar in result.  The Crawleyheavycavalry was maddened by defeatand routedeveryday.                       

If theBaronet of Queen's Crawley had not had thefear oflosing his sister's legacy before his eyeshe neverwould havepermitted his dear girls to lose the educationalblessingswhich their invaluable governess was conferringuponthem.  The old house at home seemed a desertwithoutherso useful and pleasant had Rebeccamadeherself there.  Sir Pitt's letters were not copied andcorrected;his books not made up; his householdbusinessand manifold schemes neglectednow that his littlesecretarywas away.  And it was easy to see how necessarysuch anamanuensis was to himby the tenor andspellingof the numerous letters which he sent to herentreatingher and commanding her to return.  Almost everydaybrought a frank from the Baronetenclosing themosturgent prayers to Becky for her returnor conveyingpatheticstatements to Miss Crawleyregarding theneglectedstate of his daughters' education; of whichdocumentsMiss Crawley took very little heed. MissBriggs was not formally dismissedbut her placeascompanion was a sinecure and a derision; and hercompanywas the fat spaniel in the drawing-roomoroccasionallythe discontented Firkin in the housekeeper'scloset. Nor though the old lady would by no meanshear ofRebecca's departurewas the latter regularlyinstalledin office in Park Lane.  Like many wealthy peopleit wasMiss Crawley's habit to accept as much service asshe couldget from her inferiors; and good-naturedly totake leaveof them when she no longer found themuseful. Gratitude among certain rich folks is scarcely naturalor to bethought of.  They take needy people's servicesas theirdue.  Nor have youO poor parasite and humblehanger-onmuch reason to complain!  Your friendshipfor Divesis about as sincere as the return which it usuallygets. It is money you loveand not the man; and wereCroesusand his footman to change places you knowyou poorroguewho would have the benefit of yourallegiance. And I amnot sure thatin spite of Rebecca's simplicityandactivityand gentleness and untiring goodhumourthe shrewd old London ladyupon whom thesetreasuresof friendship were lavishedhad not a lurkingsuspicionall the while of her affectionate nurse and friend.It musthave often crossed Miss Crawley's mind thatnobodydoes anything for nothing.  If she measured her ownfeelingtowards the worldshe must have been prettywell ableto gauge those of the world towards herself;andperhaps she reflected that it is the ordinary lot ofpeople tohave no friends if they themselves care fornobody. Wellmeanwhile Becky was the greatest comfort andconvenienceto herand she gave her a couple of newgownsandan old necklace and shawland showed herfriendshipby abusing all her intimate acquaintances toher newconfidante (than which there can't be a moretouchingproof of regard)and meditated vaguely somegreatfuture benefit--to marry her perhaps to Clumptheapothecaryor to settle her in some advantageousway oflife; or at any rateto send her back to Queen'sCrawleywhen she had done with herand the fullLondonseason had begun. When MissCrawley was convalescent and descendedto thedrawing-roomBecky sang to herand otherwiseamusedher; when she was well enough to drive outBeckyaccompanied her.  And amongst the drives whichthey tookwhitherof all places in the worlddid MissCrawley'sadmirable good-nature and friendship actuallyinduce herto penetratebut to Russell SquareBloomsburyand the house of John SedleyEsquire. Ere thateventmany notes had passedas may beimaginedbetween the two dear friends.  During themonths ofRebecca's stay in Hampshirethe eternalfriendshiphad (must it be owned?) suffered considerablediminutionand grown so decrepit and feeble with oldage as tothreaten demise altogether.  The fact isbothgirls hadtheir own real affairs to think of: Rebecca heradvancewith her employers--Amelia her own absorbingtopic. When the two girls metand flew into each other'sarms withthat impetuosity which distinguishes thebehaviourof young ladies towards each otherRebeccaperformedher part of the embrace with the most perfectbrisknessand energy.  Poor little Amelia blushed as shekissed herfriendand thought she had been guilty ofsomethingvery like coldness towards her. Theirfirst interview was but a very short one.  Ameliawas justready to go out for a walk.  Miss Crawley waswaiting inher carriage belowher people wondering atthelocality in which they found themselvesand gazinguponhonest Sambothe black footman of Bloomsburyas one ofthe queer natives of the place.  But when Ameliacame downwith her kind smiling looks (Rebecca mustintroduceher to her friendMiss Crawley was longingto seeherand was too ill to leave her carriage)--whenI sayAmelia came downthe Park Lane shoulder-knotaristocracywondered more and more that such a thingcould comeout of Bloomsbury; and Miss Crawley wasfairlycaptivated by the sweet blushing face of the younglady whocame forward so timidly and so gracefully topay herrespects to the protector of her friend.

"Whata complexionmy dear! What a sweet voice!"MissCrawley saidas they drove away westward afterthe littleinterview.  "My dear Sharpyour young friendischarming.  Send for her to Park Lanedo you hear?"MissCrawley had a good taste.  She liked naturalmanners--alittle timidity only set them off.  She liked prettyfaces nearher; as she liked pretty pictures and nicechina. She talked of Amelia with rapture half a dozentimes thatday.  She mentioned her to Rawdon Crawleywho camedutifully to partake of his aunt's chicken. Of courseon this Rebecca instantly stated that Ameliawasengaged to be married--to a Lieutenant Osborne--a very oldflame. "Ishe a man in a line-regiment?" Captain Crawleyaskedremembering after an effortas became aguardsmanthe number of the regimentthe --th. Rebeccathought that was the regiment.  "TheCaptain'sname" she said"was Captain Dobbin." "Alanky gawky fellow" said Crawley"tumbles overeverybody. I know him; and Osborne's a goodish-lookingfellowwith large black whiskers?" "Enormous"Miss Rebecca Sharp said"andenormouslyproud of themI assure you." CaptainRawdon Crawley burst into a horse-laugh byway ofreply; and being pressed by the ladies to explaindid sowhen the explosion of hilarity was over.  "Hefancies hecan play at billiards" said he.  "I won twohundred ofhim at the Cocoa-Tree.  HE playthe youngflat! He'd have played for anything that daybut his friendCaptainDobbin carried him offhang him!" "RawdonRawdondon't be so wicked" Miss Crawleyremarkedhighly pleased. "Whyma'amof all the young fellows I've seen outof thelineI think this fellow's the greenest.  Tarquin andDeuceaceget what money they like out of him.  He'd goto thedeuce to be seen with a lord.  He pays theirdinners atGreenwichand they invite the company." "Andvery pretty company tooI dare say." "QuiterightMiss Sharp.  Rightas usualMiss Sharp.Uncommonpretty company--hawhaw!" and theCaptainlaughed more and morethinking he had made agood joke.

"Rawdondon't be naughty!" his aunt exclaimed. "Wellhis father's a City man--immensely richtheysay. Hang those City fellowsthey must bleed; and I'venot donewith him yetI can tell you.  Hawhaw!" "FieCaptain Crawley; I shall warn Amelia.  Agamblinghusband!" "Horridain't hehey?" the Captain said with greatsolemnity;and then addeda sudden thought havingstruckhim: "GadI sayma'amwe'll have him here." "Ishe a presentable sort of a person?" the auntinquired. "Presentable?--ohvery well.  You wouldn't see anydifference"Captain Crawley answered.  "Do let's havehimwhenyou begin to see a few people; and hiswhatdyecallem--hisinamorato--ehMiss Sharp; that's whatyou callit--comes.  GadI'll write him a noteand havehim; andI'll try if he can play piquet as well as billiards.Where doeshe liveMiss Sharp?" Miss Sharptold Crawley the Lieutenant's town address;and a fewdays after this conversationLieutenantOsbornereceived a letterin Captain Rawdon'sschoolboyhandand enclosing a note of invitation fromMissCrawley. Rebeccadespatched also an invitation to her darlingAmeliawhoyou may be surewas ready enough toaccept itwhen she heard that George was to be of theparty. It was arranged that Amelia was to spend themorningwith the ladies of Park Lanewhere all werevery kindto her.  Rebecca patronised her with calmsuperiority:she was so much the cleverer of the twoandher friendso gentle and unassumingthat she alwaysyieldedwhen anybody chose to commandand so tookRebecca'sorders with perfect meekness and good humour.MissCrawley's graciousness was also remarkable.  Shecontinuedher raptures about little Ameliatalked abouther beforeher face as if she were a dollor a servantor apictureand admired her with the most benevolentwonderpossible.  I admire that admiration which thegenteelworld sometimes extends to the commonalty.There isno more agreeable object in life than to seeMayfairfolks condescending.  Miss Crawley's prodigiousbenevolencerather fatigued poor little Ameliaand I amnot surethat of the three ladies in Park Lane she didnot findhonest Miss Briggs the most agreeable.  Shesympathisedwith Briggs as with all neglected or gentlepeople:she wasn't what you call a woman of spirit. Georgecame to dinner--a repast en garcon withCaptainCrawley. The greatfamily coach of the Osbornes transportedhim toPark Lane from Russell Square; where the youngladieswho were not themselves invitedand professedthegreatest indifference at that slightnevertheless lookedat SirPitt Crawley's name in the baronetage; and learnedeverythingwhich that work had to teach about theCrawleyfamily and their pedigreeand the Binkiestheirrelatives&c.&c.  Rawdon Crawley received George Osbornewith greatfrankness and graciousness: praised his play atbilliards:asked him when he would have his revenge:wasinterested about Osborne's regiment: and would haveproposedpiquet to him that very eveningbut MissCrawleyabsolutely forbade any gambling in her house;so thatthe young Lieutenant's purse was not lightenedby hisgallant patronfor that day at least.  Howevertheymade anengagement for the nextsomewhere: to lookat a horsethat Crawley had to selland to try him in thePark; andto dine togetherand to pass the evening withsome jollyfellows.  "That isif you're not on duty to thatprettyMiss Sedley" Crawley saidwith a knowing wink."Monstrousnice girl'pon my honourthoughOsborne"he wasgood enough to add.  "Lots of tinI supposeeh?" Osbornewasn't on duty; he would join Crawley withpleasure:and the latterwhen they met the next daypraisedhis new friend's horsemanship--as he might withperfecthonesty--and introduced him to three or fouryoung menof the first fashionwhose acquaintanceimmenselyelated the simple young officer. "How'slittle Miss Sharpby-the-bye?" Osborne inquiredof hisfriend over their winewith a dandified air."Good-naturedlittle girl that.  Does she suit you well atQueen'sCrawley? Miss Sedley liked her a good deal lastyear." CaptainCrawley looked savagely at the Lieutenant outof hislittle blue eyesand watched him when he went upto resumehis acquaintance with the fair governess.  Herconductmust have relieved Crawley if there was anyjealousyin the bosom of that life-guardsman. When theyoung men went upstairsand afterOsborne'sintroduction to Miss Crawleyhe walked up toRebeccawith a patronisingeasy swagger.  He was goingto be kindto her and protect her.  He would even shakehands withheras a friend of Amelia's; and saying"AhMissSharp! how-dy-doo?" held out his left hand towardsherexpecting that she would be quite confounded atthehonour. Miss Sharpput out her right forefingerand gave hima littlenodso cool and killingthat Rawdon Crawleywatchingthe operations from the other roomcouldhardlyrestrain his laughter as he saw the Lieutenant'sentirediscomfiture; the start he gavethe pauseand theperfectclumsiness with which he at length condescendedto takethe finger which was offered for his embrace. "She'dbeat the devilby Jove!" the Captain saidin arapture;and the Lieutenantby way of beginning theconversationagreeably asked Rebecca how she liked hernew place. "Myplace?" said Miss Sharpcoolly"how kind of youto remindme of it!  It's a tolerably good place: the wagesare prettygood--not so good as Miss Wirt'sI believewith yoursisters in Russell Square.  How are those youngladies?--notthat I ought to ask." "Whynot?" Mr. Osborne saidamazed. "Whythey never condescended to speak to meor toask meinto their housewhilst I was staying with Amelia;but wepoor governessesyou knoware used to slights ofthissort." "Mydear Miss Sharp!" Osborne ejaculated. "Atleast in some families" Rebecca continued.  "Youcan'tthink what a difference there is though.  We are notso wealthyin Hampshire as you lucky folks of the City.But then Iam in a gentleman's family--good oldEnglishstock.  I suppose you know Sir Pitt's father refused apeerage. And you see how I am treated.  I am prettycomfortable. Indeed it is rather a good place.  But howvery goodof you to inquire!" Osbornewas quite savage.  The little governesspatronisedhim and persiffled him until this youngBritishLion felt quite uneasy; nor could he muster sufficientpresenceof mind to find a pretext for backing outof thismost delectable conversation.  "Ithought you liked the City families pretty well" hesaidhaughtily.  "Lastyear you meanwhen I was fresh from thathorridvulgar school?  Of course I did.  Doesn't every girl liketo comehome for the holidays?  And how was I to knowanybetter?  But ohMr. Osbornewhat a differenceeighteenmonths' experience makes! eighteen months spentpardon mefor saying sowith gentlemen.  As for dearAmeliasheI grant youis a pearland would be charming anywhere. There nowI see you are beginning to bein a goodhumour; but oh these queer odd City people!And Mr.Jos--how is that wonderful Mr. Joseph?"  "Itseems to me you didn't dislike that wonderful Mr.Josephlast year" Osborne said kindly.  "Howsevere of you!  Wellentre nousI didn't breakmy heartabout him; yet if he had asked me to do whatyou meanby your looks (and very expressive and kindthey aretoo)I wouldn't have said no."  Mr.Osborne gave a look as much as to say"Indeedhow veryobliging!"  "Whatan honour to have had you for a brother-in-lawyou arethinking? To be sister-in-law to GeorgeOsborneEsquireson of John OsborneEsquireson of--what wasyour grandpapaMr. Osborne?  Welldon't beangry. You can't help your pedigreeand I quite agreewith youthat I would have married Mr. Joe Sedley; forcould apoor penniless girl do better?  Now you knowthe wholesecret.  I'm frank and open; considering allthingsitwas very kind of you to allude to thecircumstance--verykind and polite.  Amelia dearMr.Osborneand I were talking about your poor brother Joseph.How ishe?"  Thus wasGeorge utterly routed.  Not that Rebecca wasin theright; but she had managed most successfully toput him inthe wrong.  And he now shamefully fledfeelingif he stayed another minutethat he would havebeen madeto look foolish in the presence of Amelia.  ThoughRebecca had had the better of himGeorge wasabove themeanness of talebearing or revenge upon alady--onlyhe could not help cleverly confiding toCaptainCrawleynext daysome notions of his regardingMissRebecca--that she was a sharp onea dangerousoneadesperate flirt&c.; in all of which opinionsCrawleyagreed laughinglyand with every one of which MissRebeccawas made acquainted before twenty-four hourswereover.  They added to her original regard for Mr.Osborne. Her woman's instinct had told her that it wasGeorge whohad interrupted the success of her firstlove-passageand she esteemed him accordingly. "Ionly just warn you" he said to Rawdon Crawleywith aknowing look--he had bought the horseand lostsome scoreof guineas after dinner"I just warn you--Iknowwomenand counsel you to be on the look-out." "Thankyoumy boy" said Crawleywith a look ofpeculiargratitude.  "You're wide awakeI see." AndGeorgewent offthinking Crawley was quite right. He toldAmelia of what he had doneand how he hadcounselledRawdon Crawley--a devilish goodstraightforwardfellow--to be on his guard against thatlittleslyscheming Rebecca. "Againstwhom?" Amelia cried. "Yourfriend the governess.--Don't look so astonished." "OGeorgewhat have you done?" Amelia said.  For herwoman'seyeswhich Love had made sharp-sightedhadin oneinstant discovered a secret which was invisible toMissCrawleyto poor virgin Briggsand above allto thestupid peepers of that young whiskered prigLieutenantOsborne. For asRebecca was shawling her in an upper apartmentwherethese two friends had an opportunity for alittle ofthat secret talking and conspiring which formthedelight of female lifeAmeliacoming up to Rebeccaand takingher two little hands in herssaid"RebeccaI see itall."

Rebeccakissed her. Andregarding this delightful secretnot one syllablemore wassaid by either of the young women.  But it wasdestinedto come out before long. Some shortperiod after the above eventsand MissRebeccaSharp still remaining at her patroness's housein ParkLaneone more hatchment might have been seenin GreatGaunt Streetfiguring amongst the many whichusuallyornament that dismal quarter.  It was over SirPittCrawley's house; but it did not indicate the worthybaronet'sdemise.  It was a feminine hatchmentandindeed afew years back had served as a funeral complimentto SirPitt's old motherthe late dowager Lady Crawley.Its periodof service overthe hatchment had comedown fromthe front of the houseand lived in retirementsomewherein the back premises of Sir Pitt's mansion.Itreappeared now for poor Rose Dawson.  Sir Pittwas awidower again.  The arms quartered on the shieldalong withhis own were notto be surepoor Rose's.She had noarms.  But the cherubs painted on thescutcheonanswered as well for her as for Sir Pitt'smotherand Resurgam was written under the coatflanked bythe Crawley Dove and Serpent.  Arms andHatchmentsResurgam.--Here is an opportunity formoralising! Mr.Crawley had tended that otherwise friendlessbedside. She went out of the world strengthened by suchwords andcomfort as he could give her.  For many yearshis wasthe only kindness she ever knew; the onlyfriendshipthat solaced in any way that feeblelonely soul.Her heartwas dead long before her body.  She had soldit tobecome Sir Pitt Crawley's wife.  Mothers anddaughtersare making the same bargain every day inVanityFair. When thedemise took placeher husband was inLondonattending to some of his innumerable schemesand busywith his endless lawyers.  He had found timeneverthelessto call often in Park Laneand to despatchmany notesto Rebeccaentreating herenjoining hercommandingher to return to her young pupils in thecountrywho were now utterly without companionshipduringtheir mother's illness.  But Miss Crawley wouldnot hearof her departure; for though there was no ladyof fashionin London who would desert her friends morecomplacentlyas soon as she was tired of their societyand thoughfew tired of them sooneryet as long as herengoumentlasted her attachment was prodigiousandshe clungstill with the greatest energy to Rebecca.

The newsof Lady Crawley's death provoked no moregrief orcomment than might have been expected in MissCrawley'sfamily circle.  "I suppose I must put off myparty forthe 3rd" Miss Crawley said; and addedafter apause"Ihope my brother will have the decency not tomarryagain." "What a confounded rage Pitt will be in ifhe does"Rawdon remarkedwith his usual regard for hiselderbrother.  Rebecca said nothing.  She seemed by far thegravestand most impressed of the family.  She left theroombefore Rawdon went away that day; but they metby chancebelowas he was going away after taking leaveand had aparley together. On themorrowas Rebecca was gazing from the windowshestartled Miss Crawleywho was placidly occupiedwith aFrench novelby crying out in an alarmedtone"Here's Sir PittMa'am!" and the Baronet's knockfollowedthis announcement. "MydearI can't see him.  I won't see him.  Tell Bowlsnot athomeor go downstairs and say I'm too ill toreceiveany one.  My nerves really won't bear my brotherat thismoment" cried out Miss Crawleyand resumedthe novel. "She'stoo ill to see yousir" Rebecca saidtrippingdown toSir Pittwho was preparing to ascend. "Somuch the better" Sir Pitt answered.  "I want tosee YOUMiss Becky.  Come along a me into the parlour"and theyentered that apartment together. "Iwawnt you back at Queen's CrawleyMiss" thebaronetsaidfixing his eyes upon herand taking off hisblackgloves and his hat with its great crape hat-band.His eyeshad such a strange lookand fixed upon her sosteadfastlythat Rebecca Sharp began almost to tremble. "Ihope to come soon" she said in a low voice"assoon asMiss Crawley is better--and return to--to thedearchildren."  "You'vesaid so these three monthsBecky" repliedSir Pitt"and still you go hanging on to my sisterwho'llfling youoff like an old shoewhen she's wore you out.I tell youI want you.  I'm going back to the Vuneral.Will youcome back?  Yes or no?"

"Idaren't--I don't think--it would be right--to bealone--withyousir" Becky saidseemingly in greatagitation. "Isay aginI want you" Sir Pitt saidthumping thetable. "I can't git on without you.  I didn't see what it wastill youwent away.  The house all goes wrong.  It's notthe sameplace.  All my accounts has got muddled agin.You MUSTcome back.  Do come back.  Dear Beckydocome." "Come--aswhatsir?" Rebecca gasped out. "Comeas Lady Crawleyif you like" the Baronetsaidgrasping his crape hat.  "There! will that zatusfy you?Come backand be my wife.  Your vit vor't.  Birth behanged. You're as good a lady as ever I see.  You've gotmorebrains in your little vinger than any baronet's wifein thecounty.  Will you come? Yes or no?" "OhSir Pitt!" Rebecca saidvery much moved. "SayyesBecky" Sir Pitt continued.  "I'm an old manbut agood'n.  I'm good for twenty years.  I'll make youhappyzeeif I don't.  You shall do what you like; spendwhat youlike; and 'ave it all your own way.  I'll makeyou azettlement.  I'll do everything reglar.  Look year!"and theold man fell down on his knees and leered ather like asatyr. Rebeccastarted back a picture of consternation.  Inthe courseof this history we have never seen her lose herpresenceof mind; but she did nowand wept some of themostgenuine tears that ever fell from her eyes. "OhSir Pitt!" she said.  "Ohsir--I--I'm marriedALREADY."

CHAPTER XVInWhich Rebecca's Husband Appearsfor aShort Time

Everyreader of a sentimental turn (and we desireno other)must have been pleased with thetableauwith which the last act of our littledramaconcluded; for what can be prettier thanan imageof Love on his knees before Beauty?              But whenLove heard that awful confession fromBeautythat she was married alreadyhebounced upfrom his attitude of humility on the carpetutteringexclamations which caused poor little Beauty tobe morefrightened than she was when she made heravowal. "Married; you're joking" the Baronet criedafterthe firstexplosion of rage and wonder.  "You'remaking vunof meBecky.  Who'd ever go to marry youwithout ashilling to your vortune?" "Married!married!" Rebecca saidin an agony of tears--hervoice choking with emotionher handkerchief upto herready eyesfainting against the mantelpiece afigure ofwoe fit to melt the most obdurate heart.  "0Sir Pittdear Sir Pittdo not think me ungrateful for allyourgoodness to me.  It is only your generosity that hasextortedmy secret."

"Generositybe hanged!" Sir Pitt roared out.  "Who isit tuthenyou're married? Where was it?"  "Letme come back with you to the countrysir!  Letme watchover you as faithfully as ever!  Don'tdon'tseparateme from dear Queen's Crawley!"  "Thefeller has left youhas he?" the Baronet saidbeginningas he fanciedto comprehend.  "WellBecky--come backif you like.  You can't eat your cake and haveit. Any ways I made you a vair offer.  Coom back asgoverness--youshall have it all your own way." Sheheld outone hand.  She cried fit to break her heart; herringletsfell over her faceand over the marblemantelpiecewhere she laid it.  "Sothe rascal ran offeh?"  Sir Pitt saidwith a hideousattempt atconsolation.  "Never mindBeckyI'LL takecare of'ee."  "Ohsir! it would be the pride of my life to go backto Queen'sCrawleyand take care of the childrenandof you asformerlywhen you said you were pleased withtheservices of your little Rebecca.  When I think of whatyou havejust offered memy heart fills with gratitudeindeed itdoes.  I can't be your wifesir; let me--let me beyourdaughter." SayingwhichRebecca went down on HER knees in amosttragical wayandtaking Sir Pitt's horny blackhandbetween her own two (which were very pretty andwhiteandas soft as satin)looked up in his face with anexpressionof exquisite pathos and confidencewhen--when thedoor openedand Miss Crawley sailed in. Mrs.Firkin and Miss Briggswho happened by chanceto be atthe parlour door soon after the Baronet andRebeccaentered the apartmenthad also seen accidentallythroughthe keyholethe old gentleman prostratebefore thegovernessand had heard the generous proposalwhich hemade her.  It was scarcely out of his mouthwhen Mrs.Firkin and Miss Briggs had streamed up thestairshad rushed into the drawing-room where MissCrawleywas reading the French noveland had giventhat oldlady the astounding intelligence that Sir Pittwas on hiskneesproposing to Miss Sharp.  And if youcalculatethe time for the above dialogue to take place--the timefor Briggs and Firkin to fly to the drawing-room--thetime for Miss Crawley to be astonishedandto dropher volume of Pigault le Brun--and the time forher tocome downstairs--you will see how exactlyaccuratethis history isand how Miss Crawley must haveappearedat the very instant when Rebecca had assumedtheattitude of humility. "Itis the lady on the groundand not the gentleman"MissCrawley saidwith a look and voice of great scorn."Theytold me that YOU were on your kneesSir Pitt: dokneel oncemoreand let me see this pretty couple!" "Ihave thanked Sir Pitt CrawleyMa'am" Rebeccasaidrising"and have told him that--that I never canbecomeLady Crawley." "Refusedhim!"  Miss Crawley saidmore bewilderedthanever.  Briggs and Firkin at the door opened the eyesofastonishment and the lips of wonder. "Yes--refused"Rebecca continuedwith a sadtearfulvoice. "Andam I to credit my ears that you absolutelyproposedto herSir Pitt?" the old lady asked. "Ees"said the Baronet"I did." "Andshe refused you as she says?" "Ees"Sir Pitt saidhis features on a broad grin. "Itdoes not seem to break your heart at any rate"MissCrawley remarked. "Nawta bit" answered Sir Pittwith a coolness andgood-humourwhich set Miss Crawley almost mad withbewilderment. That an old gentleman of station shouldfall onhis knees to a penniless governessand burst outlaughingbecause she refused to marry him--that apennilessgoverness should refuse a Baronet with fourthousand ayear--these were mysteries which Miss Crawleycouldnever comprehend.  It surpassed any complicationsofintrigue in her favourite Pigault le Brun. "I'mglad you think it good sportbrother" shecontinuedgroping wildly through this amazement. "Vamous"said Sir Pitt.  "Who'd ha' thought it! what asly littledevil! what a little fox it waws!" he mutteredtohimselfchuckling with pleasure. "Who'dhave thought what?" cries Miss Crawleystampingwith her foot.  "PrayMiss Sharpare youwaitingfor the Prince Regent's divorcethat you don't thinkour familygood enough for you?" "Myattitude" Rebecca said"when you came inma'amdidnot look as if I despised such an honour asthisgood--this noble man has deigned to offer me.  Doyou thinkI have no heart?  Have you all loved meandbeen sokind to the poor orphan--deserted--girlandam I tofeel nothing?  O my friends!  O my benefactors!may not mylovemy lifemy dutytry to repay theconfidenceyou have shown me?  Do you grudge me evengratitudeMiss Crawley?  It is too much--my heart istoo full";and she sank down in a chair so patheticallythat mostof the audience present were perfectly meltedwith hersadness. "Whetheryou marry me or notyou're a good littlegirlBeckyand I'm your vriendmind" said Sir Pittandputting onhis crape-bound hathe walked away--greatlytoRebecca's relief; for it was evident that her secretwasunrevealed to Miss Crawleyand she had theadvantageof a brief reprieve. Puttingher handkerchief to her eyesand noddingawayhonest Briggswho would have followed herupstairsshe went up to her apartment; while Briggs andMissCrawleyin a high state of excitementremainedto discussthe strange eventand Firkinnot less moveddived downinto the kitchen regionsand talked of itwith allthe male and female company there.  And soimpressedwas Mrs. Firkin with the newsthat she thoughtproper towrite off by that very night's post"with herhumbleduty to Mrs. Bute Crawley and the family at theRectoryand Sir Pitt has been and proposed for to marryMissSharpwherein she has refused himto the wonderof all." The twoladies in the dining-room (where worthyMissBriggs was delighted to be admitted once more toconfidentialconversation with her patroness) wonderedto theirhearts' content at Sir Pitt's offerand Rebecca'srefusal;Briggs very acutely suggesting that there musthave beensome obstacle in the shape of a previousattachmentotherwise no young woman in her senses wouldever haverefused so advantageous a proposal.

"Youwould have accepted it yourselfwouldn't youBriggs?"Miss Crawley saidkindly. "Wouldit not be a privilege to be Miss Crawley'ssister?"Briggs repliedwith meek evasion. "WellBecky would have made a good Lady Crawleyafterall" Miss Crawley remarked (who was mollified bythe girl'srefusaland very liberal and generous now therewas nocall for her sacrifices).  "She has brains in plenty(much morewit in her little finger than you havemypoor dearBriggsin all your head).  Her manners areexcellentnow I have formed her.  She is a MontmorencyBriggsand blood is somethingthough I despise it formy part;and she would have held her own amongst thosepompousstupid Hampshire people much better than thatunfortunateironmonger's daughter." Briggscoincided as usualand the "previous attachment"was thendiscussed in conjectures.  "You poorfriendlesscreatures are always having some foolishtendre"Miss Crawley said.  "You yourselfyou knowwere inlove with a writing-master (don't cryBriggs--you'realways cryingand it won't bring him to life again)and Isuppose this unfortunate Becky has been sillyandsentimental too--some apothecaryor house-stewardorpainteror young curateor something of that sort." "Poorthing! poor thing!" says Briggs (who was thinkingoftwenty-four years backand that hectic youngwriting-masterwhose lock of yellow hairand whoselettersbeautiful in their illegibilityshe cherished inher olddesk upstairs).  "Poor thingpoor thing!" saysBriggs. Once more she was a fresh-cheeked lass of eighteen;she was atevening churchand the hectic writing-masterand shewere quavering out of the same psalm-book. "Aftersuch conduct on Rebecca's part" Miss Crawleysaidenthusiastically"our family should do something.Find outwho is the objetBriggs.  I'll set him up in ashop; ororder my portrait of himyou know; or speakto mycousinthe Bishop
and I'll doter Beckyandwe'll havea weddingBriggsand you shall make thebreakfastand be a bridesmaid."

Briggsdeclared that it would be delightfuland vowedthat herdear Miss Crawley was always kind and generousand wentup to Rebecca's bedroom to console herandprattle about the offerand the refusaland thecausethereof; and to hint at the generous intentions ofMissCrawleyand to find out who was the gentlemanthat hadthe mastery of Miss Sharp's heart. Rebeccawas very kindvery affectionate and affected--respondedto Briggs's offer of tenderness with gratefulfervour--ownedthere was a secret attachment--adeliciousmystery--what a pity Miss Briggs had notremainedhalf a minute longer at the keyhole!  Rebeccamightperhapshave told more: but five minutes afterMissBriggs's arrival in Rebecca's apartmentMiss Crawleyactuallymade her appearance there--an unheard-ofhonour--herimpatience had overcome her; she could notwait forthe tardy operations of her ambassadress: soshe camein personand ordered Briggs out of the room.Andexpressing her approval of Rebecca's conductsheaskedparticulars of the interviewand the previoustransactionswhich had brought about the astonishingoffer ofSir Pitt. Rebeccasaid she had long had some notion of thepartialitywith which Sir Pitt honoured her (for he wasin thehabit of making his feelings known in a very frankandunreserved manner) butnot to mention privatereasonswith which she would not for the present troubleMissCrawleySir Pitt's agestationand habits weresuch as torender a marriage quite impossible; andcould awoman with any feeling of self-respect and anydecencylisten to proposals at such a momentwhenthefuneral of the lover's deceased wife had not actuallytakenplace?  "Nonsensemy dearyou would never have refusedhim hadthere not been some one else in the case" MissCrawleysaidcoming to her point at once.  "Tell me theprivatereasons; what are the private reasons?  There issome one;who is it that has touched your heart?" Rebeccacast down her eyesand owned there was."Youhave guessed rightdear lady" she saidwith asweetsimple faltering voice.  "You wonder at one sopoor andfriendless having an attachmentdon't you?I havenever heard that poverty was any safeguardagainstit.  I wish it were." "Mypoor dear child" cried Miss Crawleywho wasalwaysquite ready to be sentimental"is our passionunrequitedthen?  Are we pining in secret? Tell me alland let meconsole you." "Iwish you coulddear Madam" Rebecca said in thesametearful tone.  "IndeedindeedI need it." And shelaid herhead upon Miss Crawley's shoulder and weptthere sonaturally that the old ladysurprised intosympathyembraced her with an almost maternalkindnessuttered many soothing protests of regard andaffectionfor hervowed that she loved her as a daughterand woulddo everything in her power to serve her.  "Andnow who isitmy dear?  Is it that pretty Miss Sedley'sbrother? You said something about an affair with him.I'll askhim heremy dear.  And you shall have him:indeed youshall." "Don'task me now" Rebecca said.  "You shall knowall soon. Indeed you shall.  Dear kind Miss Crawley--dearfriendmay I say so?" "Thatyou maymy child" the old lady repliedkissingher. "Ican't tell you now" sobbed out Rebecca"I amverymiserable.  But O! love me always--promise you willlove mealways." And in the midst of mutual tears--fortheemotions of the younger woman had awakened thesympathiesof the elder--this promise was solemnly givenby MissCrawleywho left her little protegeblessingandadmiring her as a dearartlesstender-heartedaffectionateincomprehensible creature. And nowshe was left alone to think over the suddenandwonderful events of the dayand of what had beenand whatmight have been.  What think you were theprivatefeelings of Missno (begging her pardon) ofMrs.Rebecca?  Ifa few pages backthe present writerclaimedthe privilege of peeping into Miss AmeliaSedley'sbedroomand understanding with the omniscienceof thenovelist all the gentle pains and passions whichweretossing upon that innocent pillowwhy should henotdeclare himself to be Rebecca's confidante toomaster ofher secretsand seal-keeper of that youngwoman'sconscience? Wellthenin the first placeRebecca gave way tosome verysincere and touching regrets that a piece ofmarvellousgood fortune should have been so near herand sheactually obliged to decline it.  In this naturalemotionevery properly regulated mind will certainlyshare. What good mother is there that would notcommiseratea penniless spinsterwho might have beenmy ladyand have shared four thousand a year?  Whatwell-bredyoung person is there in all Vanity Fairwhowill notfeel for a hard-workingingeniousmeritoriousgirlwhogets such an honourableadvantageousprovokingofferjust at the very moment when it is out of herpower toaccept it?  I am sure our friend Becky'sdisappointmentdeserves and will command everysympathy. I rememberone night being in the Fair myselfat aneveningparty.  I observed old Miss Toady there alsopresentsingle out for her special attentions and flatterylittleMrs. Brieflessthe barrister's wifewho is of agoodfamily certainlybutas we all knowis as pooras poorcan be. WhatIasked in my own mindcan cause thisobsequiousnesson the part of Miss Toady; has Brieflessgot acounty courtor has his wife had a fortune left her?Miss Toadyexplained presentlywith that simplicitywhichdistinguishes all her conduct.  "You know" shesaid"Mrs.Briefless is granddaughter of Sir John Redhandwho is soill at Cheltenham that he can't last sixmonths. Mrs.  Briefless's papa succeeds; so you see shewill be abaronet's daughter." And Toady asked Brieflessand hiswife to dinner the very next week. If themere chance of becoming a baronet's daughtercanprocure a lady such homage in the worldsurelysurely wemay respect the agonies of a young womanwho haslost the opportunity of becoming a baronet'swife. Who would have dreamed of Lady Crawley dyingso soon? She was one of those sickly women thatmight havelasted these ten years--Rebecca thought toherselfin all the woes of repentance--and I might havebeen mylady!  I might have led that old man whither Iwould. I might have thanked Mrs. Bute for herpatronageand Mr. Pitt for his insufferable condescension.  Iwould havehad the town-house newly furnished anddecorated. I would have had the handsomest carriage inLondonand a box at the opera; and I would havebeenpresented next season.  All this might have been;andnow--now all was doubt and mystery. ButRebecca was a young lady of too much resolutionand energyof character to permit herself much uselessandunseemly sorrow for the irrevocable past; sohavingdevotedonly the proper portion of regret to itshe wiselyturned herwhole attention towards the futurewhichwas nowvastly more important to her.  And shesurveyedher positionand its hopesdoubtsand chances. In thefirst placeshe was MARRIED--that was a greatfact. Sir Pitt knew it.  She was not so much surprised intotheavowalas induced to make it by a sudden calculation.It musthave come some day: and why not nowas at alater period? He who would have married herhimselfmust at least be silent with regard to her marriage.How MissCrawley would bear the news--was the greatquestion. Misgivings Rebecca had; but she rememberedall MissCrawley had said; the old lady's avowedcontemptfor birth; her daring liberal opinions; hergeneralromantic propensities; her almost doting attachmentto hernephewand her repeatedly expressed fondness forRebeccaherself.  She is so fond of himRebecca thoughtthat shewill forgive him anything: she is so used to methat Idon't think she could be comfortable withoutme: whenthe eclaircissement comes there will be asceneandhystericsand a great quarreland then agreatreconciliation.  At all eventswhat use was thereindelaying? the die was thrownand now or to-morrowthe issuemust be the same.  And soresolved that MissCrawleyshould have the newsthe young persondebated inher mind as to the best means of conveying itto her;and whether she should face the storm that mustcomeorfly and avoid it until its first fury was blownover. In this state of meditation she wrote the followingletter:

DearestFriend

The greatcrisis which we have debatedabout sooften is COME.  Half of my secret is knownandI havethought and thoughtuntil I am quite sure thatnow is thetime to reveal THE WHOLE OF THE MYSTERY.  SirPitt cameto me this morningand made--what do youthink?--ADECLARATION IN FORM.  Think of that!  Poorlittleme.  I might have been Lady Crawley.  How pleasedMrs. Butewould have been: and ma tante if I had takenprecedenceof her! I might have been somebody'smammainstead of--OI trembleI tremblewhen Ithink howsoon we must tell all! Sir Pittknows I am marriedand not knowing towhomisnot very much displeased as yet.  Ma tante isACTUALLYANGRY that I should have refused him.  But sheis allkindness and graciousness.  She condescends to sayI wouldhave made him a good wife; and vows thatshe willbe a mother to your little Rebecca.  She will beshakenwhen she first hears the news.  But need we fearanythingbeyond a momentary anger?  I think not: I AMSURE not. She dotes upon you so (you naughtygood-for-nothingman)that she would pardon you ANYTHING:andindeedI believethe next place in her heart ismine: andthat she would be miserable without me.Dearest!something TELLS ME we shall conquer.  You shallleave thatodious regiment: quit gamingracingand BEA GOODBOY; and we shall all live in Park Laneand matanteshall leave us all her money. I shalltry and walk to-morrow at 3 in the usual place.If Miss B.accompanies meyou must come to dinnerand bringan answerand put it in the third volume ofPorteus'sSermons.  Butat all eventscome to your own

R.

To MissEliza StylesAt Mr.Barnet'sSaddlerKnightsbridge.

And Itrust there is no reader of this little story whohas notdiscernment enough to perceive that the MissElizaStyles (an old schoolfellowRebecca saidwithwhom shehad resumed an active correspondence of lateand whoused to fetch these letters from the saddler's)wore brassspursand large curling mustachiosand wasindeed noother than Captain Rawdon Crawley.

CHAPTERXVITheLetter on the Pincushion

How theywere married is not of the slightestconsequenceto anybody.  What is to hinder a Captain whois amajorand a young lady who is of agefrom purchasinga licenceand uniting themselves at any church in thistown? Who needs to be toldthat if a woman has a willshe willassuredly find a way?--My belief is that onedaywhenMiss Sharp had gone to pass the forenoonwith herdear friend Miss Amelia Sedley in RussellSquarealady very like her might have been seenentering achurch in the Cityin company with a gentlemanwith dyedmustachioswhoafter a quarter of an hour'sintervalescorted her back to the hackney-coach inwaitingand that this was a quiet bridal party. And who onearthafter the daily experience we havecanquestion the probability of a gentleman marryinganybody?How many of the wise and learned havemarriedtheir cooks?  Did not Lord Eldon himselfthemostprudent of menmake a runaway match? Were notAchillesand Ajax both in love with their servant maids?And are weto expect a heavy dragoon with strongdesiresand small brainswho had never controlled apassion inhis lifeto become prudent all of a suddenand torefuse to pay any price for an indulgence towhich hehad a mind?  If people only made prudentmarriageswhat a stop to population there would be! It seemsto mefor my partthat Mr. Rawdon's marriagewas one ofthe honestest actions which we shall have torecord inany portion of that gentleman's biography whichhas to dowith the present history.  No one will say it isunmanly tobe captivated by a womanorbeingcaptivatedto marry her; and the admirationthe delightthepassionthe wonderthe unbounded confidenceand franticadorationwith whichby degreesthis big warrior gotto regardthe little Rebeccawere feelings which the ladiesat leastwill pronounce were not altogether discreditableto him. When she sangevery note thrilled in his dullsoulandtingled through his huge frame.  When she spokehe broughtall the force of his brains to listen and wonder.If she wasjocularhe used to revolve her jokes in hismindandexplode over them half an hour afterwards inthestreetto the surprise of the groom in the tilbury byhis sideor the comrade riding with him in Rotten Row.Her wordswere oracles to himher smallest actionsmarked byan infallible grace and wisdom.  "How shesings--howshe paints" thought he.  "How she rode thatkickingmare at Queen's Crawley!"  And he would say toher inconfidential moments"By JoveBeckyou're fitto beCommander-in-Chiefor Archbishop of Canterburyby Jove." Is his case a rare one? and don't we see everyday in theworld many an honest Hercules at theapron-stringsof Omphaleand great whiskered Samsonsprostratein Delilah's lap? WhenthenBecky told him that the great crisis wasnearandthe time for action had arrivedRawdonexpressedhimself as ready to act under her ordersas hewould beto charge with his troop at the command of hiscolonel. There was no need for him to put his letter intothe thirdvolume of Porteus.  Rebecca easily found ameans toget rid of Briggsher companionand met herfaithfulfriend in "the usual place" on the next day.  Shehadthought over matters at nightand communicated toRawdon theresult of her determinations.  He agreedofcoursetoeverything; was quite sure that it was allright:that what she proposed was best; that Miss Crawleywouldinfallibly relentor "come round" as he saidaftera time. Had Rebecca's resolutions been entirely differenthe wouldhave followed them as implicitly.  "You haveheadenough for both of usBeck" said he.  "You're sureto get usout of the scrape.  I never saw your equalandI've metwith some clippers in my time too." And withthissimple confession of faiththe love-stricken dragoonleft herto execute his part of the project which she hadformed forthe pair. Itconsisted simply in the hiring of quiet lodgings atBromptonor in the neighbourhood of the barracksforCaptainand Mrs. Crawley.  For Rebecca had determinedand veryprudentlywe thinkto fly.  Rawdon wasonly toohappy at her resolve; he had been entreatingher totake this measure any time for weeks past.  Heprancedoff to engage the lodgings with all the impetuosityof love. He agreed to pay two guineas a week so readilythat thelandlady regretted she had asked him so little.He orderedin a pianoand half a nursery-house full offlowers:and a heap of good things.  As for shawlskidglovessilk stockingsgold French watchesbracelets andperfumeryhe sent them in with the profusion of blindlove andunbounded credit.  And having relieved his mindby thisoutpouring of generosityhe went and dinednervouslyat the clubwaiting until the great moment of hislifeshould come.

  Theoccurrences of the previous day; the admirableconduct ofRebecca in refusing an offer so advantageousto herthe secret unhappiness preying upon herthesweetnessand silence with which she bore her afflictionmade MissCrawley much more tender than usual.  Anevent ofthis naturea marriageor a refusalor aproposalthrills through a whole household of womenandsets alltheir hysterical sympathies at work.  As anobserverof human natureI regularly frequent St. George'sHanoverSquareduring the genteel marriage season; andthough Ihave never seen the bridegroom's male friendsgive wayto tearsor the beadles and officiating clergyany wayaffectedyet it is not at all uncommon to seewomen whoare not in the least concerned in theoperationsgoing on--old ladies who are long past marryingstoutmiddle-aged females with plenty of sons and daughterslet alonepretty young creatures in pink bonnetswhoare ontheir promotionand may naturally take aninterestin the ceremony--I say it is quite common to seethe womenpresent pipingsobbingsniffling; hiding theirlittlefaces in their little useless pocket-handkerchiefs;andheavingold and youngwith emotion.  When myfriendthe fashionable John Pimlicomarried the lovelyLadyBelgravia Green Parkerthe excitement was sogeneralthat even the little snuffy old pew-opener who let meinto theseat was in tears.  And wherefore? I inquired ofmy ownsoul: she was not going to be married. MissCrawley and Briggs in a wordafter the affair ofSir Pittindulged in the utmost luxury of sentimentandRebeccabecame an object of the most tender interest tothem. In her absence Miss Crawley solaced herself withthe mostsentimental of the novels in her library.  LittleSharpwith her secret griefswas the heroine of the day. That nightRebecca sang more sweetly and talked morepleasantlythan she had ever been heard to do in ParkLane. She twined herself round the heart of Miss Crawley.She spokelightly and laughingly of Sir Pitt's proposalridiculedit as the foolish fancy of an old man; and hereyesfilled with tearsand Briggs's heart with unutterablepangs ofdefeatas she said she desired no other lot thanto remainfor ever with her dear benefactress.  "My dearlittlecreature" the old lady said"I don't intend to letyou stirfor yearsthat you may depend upon it.  As forgoing backto that odious brother of mine after whathaspassedit is out of the question.  Here you stay with meandBriggs.  Briggs wants to go to see her relations veryoften. Briggsyou may go when you like.  But as for youmy dearyou must stay and take care of the old woman." If RawdonCrawley had been then and there presentinstead ofbeing at the club nervously drinking claretthepair mighthave gone down on their knees before the oldspinsteravowed alland been forgiven in a twinkling.But thatgood chance was denied to the young coupledoubtlessin order that this story might be writteninwhichnumbers of their wonderful adventures are narrated--adventureswhich could never have occurred to themif theyhad been housed and sheltered under thecomfortableuninteresting forgiveness of Miss Crawley.

Under Mrs.Firkin's ordersin the Park Lane establishmentwas ayoung woman from Hampshirewhose business it wasamongother dutiesto knock at Miss Sharp's door withthat jugof hot water which Firkin would rather haveperishedthan have presented to the intruder.  Thisgirlbredon the family estatehad a brother in CaptainCrawley'stroopand if the truth were knownI daresayit wouldcome out that she was aware of certain arrangementswhich havea great deal to do with this history.At anyrate she purchased a yellow shawla pair of greenbootsanda light blue hat with a red feather with threeguineaswhich Rebecca gave herand as little Sharp wasby nomeans too liberal with her moneyno doubt itwas forservices rendered that Betty Martin was so bribed. On thesecond day after Sir Pitt Crawley's offer toMissSharpthe sun rose as usualand at the usual hourBettyMartinthe upstairs maidknocked at the door ofthegoverness's bedchamber. No answerwas returnedand she knocked again.  Silencewas stilluninterrupted; and Bettywith the hot wateropened thedoor and entered the chamber. The littlewhite dimity bed was as smooth and trim ason the daypreviouswhen Betty's own hands had helpedto makeit.  Two little trunks were corded in one end ofthe room;and on the table before the window--on thepincushion
thegreat fat pincushion lined with pinkinsideand twilled like a lady's nightcap--lay a letter.  Ithad beenreposing there probably all night. Bettyadvanced towards it on tiptoeas if she wereafraid toawake it--looked at itand round the roomwith anair of great wonder and satisfaction; took up theletterand grinned intensely as she turned it round andoverandfinally carried it into Miss Briggs's roombelow. How couldBetty tell that the letter was for Miss BriggsI shouldlike to know?  All the schooling Betty had hadwas atMrs. Bute Crawley's Sunday schooland she couldno moreread writing than Hebrew. "LaMiss Briggs" the girl exclaimed"OMisssomethingmust have happened--there's nobody in MissSharp'sroom; the bed ain't been slep inand she've runawayandleft this letter for youMiss." "WHAT!"cries Briggsdropping her combthe thin wispof fadedhair falling over her shoulders; "an elopement!Miss Sharpa fugitive!  Whatwhat is this?" and she eagerlybroke theneat sealandas they say"devoured thecontents"of the letter addressed to her.

Dear MissBriggs [the refugee wrote]the kindestheart inthe worldas yours iswill pity and sympathisewith meand excuse me.  With tearsand prayersandblessingsI leave the home where the poor orphan hasever metwith kindness and affection.  Claims evensuperiorto those of my benefactress call me hence.  I go tomyduty--to my HUSBAND.  YesI am married.  MyhusbandCOMMANDS me to seek the HUMBLE HOME whichwe callours.  Dearest Miss Briggsbreak the news as yourdelicatesympathy will know how to do it--to my dearmy belovedfriend and benefactress.  Tell herere I wentI shedtears on her dear pillow--that pillow that I haveso oftensoothed in sickness--that I long AGAIN to watch--Ohwithwhat joy shall I return to dear Park Lane!How Itremble for the answer which is to SEAL MY FATE!When SirPitt deigned to offer me his handan honourof whichmy beloved Miss Crawley said I was DESERVING(myblessings go with her for judging the poor orphanworthy tobe HER SISTER!) I told Sir Pitt that I was alreadyA WIFE. Even he forgave me.  But my courage failed mewhen Ishould have told him all--that I could not behis wifefor I WAS HIS DAUGHTER!  I am wedded to the bestand mostgenerous of men--Miss Crawley's Rawdon isMYRawdon.  At his COMMAND I open my lipsandfollow himto our humble homeas I would THROUGH THEWORLD. Omy excellent and kind friendintercede withmyRawdon's beloved aunt for him and the poor girl towhom allHIS NOBLE RACE have shown such UNPARALLELEDAFFECTION. Ask Miss Crawley to receive HER CHILDREN.  Ican say nomorebut blessingsblessings on all in thedear houseI leaveprays

Youraffectionate and GRATEFULRebeccaCrawley.Midnight.

Just asBriggs had finished reading this affecting andinterestingdocumentwhich reinstated her in her positionas firstconfidante of Miss CrawleyMrs. Firkin enteredthe room. "Here's Mrs. Bute Crawley just arrived bythe mailfrom Hampshireand wants some tea; will youcome downand make breakfastMiss?"  And to thesurprise of Firkinclasping her dressing-gownaroundherthe wisp of hair floating dishevelledbehindherthe little curl-papers still sticking in bunchesround herforeheadBriggs sailed down to Mrs. Bute withthe letterin her hand containing the wonderful news.

"OhMrs. Firkin" gasped Betty"sech a business.  MissSharp havea gone and run away with the Captingandthey'reoff to Gretney Green!"  We would devote a chaptertodescribe the emotions of Mrs. Firkindid not thepassionsof her mistresses occupy our genteeler muse.

When Mrs.Bute Crawleynumbed with midnight travellingandwarming herself at the newly crackling parlourfireheard from Miss Briggs the intelligence of theclandestinemarriageshe declared it was quite providentialthat sheshould have arrived at such a time to assist poordear MissCrawley in supporting the shock--that Rebeccawas anartful little hussy of whom she had alwayshad hersuspicions; and that as for Rawdon Crawleyshenevercould account for his aunt's infatuation regardinghimandhad long considered him a profligatelostandabandoned being.  And this awful conductMrs. Butesaidwillhave at least this good effectit will open poordear MissCrawley's eyes to the real character of thiswickedman.  Then Mrs. Bute had a comfortable hot toastand tea;and as there was a vacant room in the housenowtherewas no need for her to remain at the GlosterCoffeeHouse where the Portsmouth mail had set herdownandwhence she ordered Mr. Bowls's aide-de-campthefootman to bring away her trunks. MissCrawleybe it knowndid not leave her room untilnearnoon--taking chocolate in bed in the morningwhileBeckySharp read the Morning Post to heror otherwiseamusingherself or dawdling.  The conspirators belowagreedthat they would spare the dear lady's feelingsuntil sheappeared in her drawing-room: meanwhile it wasannouncedto her that Mrs. Bute Crawley had come upfromHampshire by the mailwas staying at the Glostersent herlove to Miss Crawleyand asked for breakfastwith MissBriggs.  The arrival of Mrs. Butewhich wouldnot havecaused any extreme delight at another periodwas hailedwith pleasure now; Miss Crawley being pleasedat thenotion of a gossip with her sister-in-law regardingthe lateLady Crawleythe funeral arrangements pendingand SirPitt's abrupt proposal to Rebecca. It was notuntil the old lady was fairly ensconced inher usualarm-chair in the drawing-roomand thepreliminaryembraces and inquiries had taken place betweentheladiesthat the conspirators thought it advisable tosubmit herto the operation.  Who has not admired theartificesand delicate approaches with which women"prepare"their friends for bad news?  Miss Crawley's twofriendsmade such an apparatus of mystery before theybroke theintelligence to herthat they worked her up tothenecessary degree of doubt and alarm. "Andshe refused Sir Pittmy deardear Miss Crawleyprepareyourself for it" Mrs. Bute said"because--becauseshe couldn't help herself." "Ofcourse there was a reason" Miss Crawley answered."Sheliked somebody else.  I told Briggs so yesterday."

"LIKESsomebody else!" Briggs gasped.  "O my dearfriendshe is married already." "Marriedalready" Mrs. Bute chimed in; and both satewithclasped hands looking from each other at theirvictim. "Sendher to methe instant she comes in.  The littleslywretch: how dared she not tell me?" cried out MissCrawley. "Shewon't come in soon.  Prepare yourselfdear friend--she'sgone out for a long time--she's--she's gonealtogether." "Graciousgoodnessand who's to make my chocolate?Send forher and have her back; I desire that she comeback"the old lady said. "Shedecamped last nightMa'am" cried Mrs. Bute. "Sheleft a letter for me" Briggs exclaimed.  "She'smarriedto--" "Prepareherfor heaven's sake.  Don't torture hermydear MissBriggs." "She'smarried to whom?" cries the spinster in anervousfury. "To--toa relation of--" "Sherefused Sir Pitt" cried the victim.  "Speak at once.Don'tdrive me mad." "OMa'am--prepare herMiss Briggs--she's marriedto RawdonCrawley." "Rawdonmarried Rebecca--governess--nobod--Get out ofmy houseyou foolyou idiot--you stupid oldBriggs howdare you? You're in the plot--you madehim marrythinking that I'd leave my money from him--you didMartha" the poor old lady screamed in hystericsentences. "IMa'amask a member of this family to marry adrawing-master'sdaughter?" "Hermother was a Montmorency" cried out the oldladypulling at the bell with all her might. "Hermother was an opera girland she has been onthe stageor worse herself" said Mrs. Bute. MissCrawley gave a final screamand fell back in afaint. They were forced to take her back to the roomwhich shehad just quitted.  One fit of hysterics succeededanother. The doctor was sent for--the apothecary arrived.Mrs. Butetook up the post of nurse by her bedside.  "Herrelationsought to be round about her" that amiablewomansaid. She hadscarcely been carried up to her roomwhen anew personarrived to whom it was also necessary to breakthe news. This was Sir Pitt.  "Where's Becky?" he saidcomingin.  "Where's her traps? She's coming with me toQueen'sCrawley." "Haveyou not heard the astonishing intelligenceregardingher surreptitious union?" Briggs asked. "What'sthat to me?" Sir Pitt asked.  "I know she'smarried. That makes no odds.  Tell her to come down atonceandnot keep me." "Areyou not awaresir" Miss Briggs asked"that shehas leftour roofto the dismay of Miss Crawleywho isnearlykilled by the intelligence of Captain Rawdon's unionwith her?" When SirPitt Crawley heard that Rebecca was marriedto hissonhe broke out into a fury of languagewhich itwould dono good to repeat in this placeas indeed itsent poorBriggs shuddering out of the room; and with herwe willshut the door upon the figure of the frenzied oldmanwildwith hatred and insane with baffled desire. One dayafter he went to Queen's Crawleyhe burstlike amadman into the room she had used when there--dashedopen her boxes with his footand flung aboutherpapersclothesand other relics.  Miss Horrocksthebutler'sdaughtertook some of them.  The childrendressedthemselves and acted plays in the others.  It wasbut a fewdays after the poor mother had gone to herlonelyburying-place; and was laidunwept anddisregardedin a vault full of strangers.

"Supposethe old lady doesn't come to" Rawdon said tohis littlewifeas they sate together in the snug littleBromptonlodgings.  She had been trying the new pianoall themorning.  The new gloves fitted her to a nicety; thenew shawlsbecame her wonderfully; the new ringsglitteredon her little handsand the new watch ticked at herwaist;"suppose she don't come roundehBecky?" "I'LLmake your fortune" she said; and Delilah pattedSamson'scheek. "Youcan do anything" he saidkissing the little hand."ByJove you can; and we'll drive down to the Star andGarterand dineby Jove."

CHAPTERXVIIHowCaptain Dobbin Bought a Piano

If thereis any exhibition in all Vanity Fair which SatireandSentiment can visit arm in arm together; where youlight onthe strangest contrasts laughable and tearful:where youmay be gentle and patheticor savage andcynicalwith perfect propriety: it is at one of those publicassembliesa crowd of which are advertised every day inthe lastpage of the Times newspaperand over whichthe lateMr. George Robins used to preside with so muchdignity. There are very few London peopleas I fancywho havenot attended at these meetingsand all with ataste formoralizing must have thoughtwith a sensationandinterest not a little startling and queerof the daywhen theirturn shall come tooand Mr. Hammerdownwill sellby the orders of Diogenes' assigneesor will beinstructedby the executorsto offer to public competitionthelibraryfurnitureplatewardrobeand choice cellarof winesof Epicurus deceased. Even withthe most selfish dispositionthe Vanity Fairianas hewitnesses this sordid part of the obsequies of adepartedfriendcan't but feel some sympathies and regret.My LordDives's remains are in the family vault: thestatuariesare cutting an inscription veraciouslycommemoratinghis virtuesand the sorrows of his heirwho isdisposing of his goods.  What guest at Dives's tablecan passthe familiar house without a sigh? .--the familiarhouse ofwhich the lights used to shine so cheerfully atseveno'clockof which the hall-doors opened so readilyof whichthe obsequious servantsas you passed up thecomfortablestairsounded your name from landing tolandinguntil it reached the apartment where jolly oldDiveswelcomed his friends!  What a number of them hehad; andwhat a noble way of entertaining them.  Howwittypeople used to be here who were morose when theygot out ofthe door; and how courteous and friendly menwhoslandered and hated each other everywhere else!  Hewaspompousbut with such a cook what would one notswallow?he was rather dullperhapsbut would notsuch winemake any conversation pleasant?  We must getsome ofhis Burgundy at any pricethe mourners cry athis club. "I got this box at old Dives's sale" Pincher sayshanding itround"one of Louis XV's mistresses--prettythingisit not?--sweet miniature" and they talk of theway inwhich young Dives is dissipating his fortune. Howchanged the house isthough!  The front is patchedover withbillssetting forth the particulars of the furniturein staringcapitals.  They have hung a shred of carpet outof anupstairs window--a half dozen of porters are loungingon thedirty steps--the hall swarms with dingy guestsoforiental countenancewho thrust printed cards intoyour handand offer to bid.  Old women and amateurshaveinvaded the upper apartmentspinching the bed-curtainspoking into the feathersshampooing themattressesand clapping the wardrobe drawers to and fro.Enterprisingyoung housekeepers are measuring thelooking-glassesand hangings to see if they will suit the newmenage(Snob will brag for years that he has purchasedthis orthat at Dives's sale)and Mr. Hammerdown issitting onthe great mahogany dining-tablesin the dining-roombelowwaving the ivory hammerand employing alltheartifices of eloquenceenthusiasmentreatyreasondespair;shouting to his people; satirizing Mr. Davids forhissluggishness; inspiriting Mr. Moss into action;imploringcommandingbellowinguntil down comes thehammerlike fateand we pass to the next lot.  O Diveswho wouldever have thoughtas we sat round the broadtablesparkling with plate and spotless linento have seensuch adish at the head of it as that roaring auctioneer? It wasrather late in the sale.  The excellent drawing-roomfurniture by the best makers; the rare and famouswinesselectedregardless of costand with the well-knowntaste ofthe purchaser; the rich and complete set of familyplate hadbeen sold on the previous days.  Certain of thebest wines(which all had a great character amongamateursin the neighbourhood) had been purchased for hismasterwho knew them very wellby the butler of ourfriendJohn OsborneEsquireof Russell Square.  A smallportion ofthe most useful articles of the plate had beenbought bysome young stockbrokers from the City.  Andnow thepublic being invited to the purchase of minorobjectsit happened that the orator on the table wasexpatiatingon the merits of a picturewhich he soughttorecommend to his audience: it was by no means soselect ornumerous a company as had attended thepreviousdays of the auction. "No.369" roared Mr. Hammerdown.  "Portrait of agentlemanon an elephant.  Who'll bid for the gentlemanon theelephant?  Lift up the pictureBlowmanand letthecompany examine this lot." A longpalemilitary-lookinggentlemanseated demurely at the mahoganytablecould not help grinning as this valuable lot wasshown byMr. Blowman.  "Turn the elephant to theCaptainBlowman.  What shall we saysirfor the elephant?"but theCaptainblushing in a very hurried and discomfitedmannerturned away his head. "Shallwe say twenty guineas for this work of art?--fifteenfivename your own price.  The gentlemanwithoutthe elephant is worth five pound."

"Iwonder it ain't come down with him" said aprofessionalwag"he's anyhow a precious big one"; atwhich (forthe elephant-rider was represented as of a verystoutfigure) there was a general giggle in the room. "Don'tbe trying to deprecate the value of the lotMr.Moss"Mr. Hammerdown said; "let the companyexamine itas a work of art--the attitude of the gallantanimalquite according to natur'; the gentleman in anankeenjackethis gun in his handis going to thechase; inthe distance a banyhann tree and a pagodymostlikely resemblances of some interesting spot in ourfamousEastern possessions.  How much for this lot?Comegentlemendon't keep me here all day." Some onebid five shillingsat which the militarygentlemanlooked towards the quarter from which thissplendidoffer had comeand there saw another officerwith ayoung lady on his armwho both appeared to behighlyamused with the sceneand to whomfinallythislot wasknocked down for half a guinea.  He at thetablelooked more surprised and discomposed than everwhen hespied this pairand his head sank into hismilitarycollarand he turned his back upon themso asto avoidthem altogether. Of all theother articles which Mr. Hammerdown hadthe honourto offer for public competition that day it isnot ourpurpose to make mentionsave of one onlyalittlesquare pianowhich came down from the upperregions ofthe house (the state grand piano havingbeendisposed of previously); this the young lady triedwith arapid and skilful hand (making the officer blushand startagain)and for itwhen its turn cameheragentbegan to bid. But therewas an opposition here.  The Hebrew aide-de-camp inthe service of the officer at the table bid againstthe Hebrewgentleman employed by the elephantpurchasersand a brisk battle ensued over this little pianothecombatants being greatly encouraged by Mr.Hammerdown. At lastwhen the competition had been prolonged forsome timethe elephant captain and lady desisted fromthe race;and the hammer coming downthe auctioneersaid:--"Mr.Lewistwenty-five" and Mr. Lewis's chiefthusbecame the proprietor of the little square piano.Havingeffected the purchasehe sate up as if he wasgreatlyrelievedand the unsuccessful competitorscatching aglimpse of him at this momentthe ladysaid toher friend

"WhyRawdonit's Captain Dobbin." I supposeBecky was discontented with the new pianoherhusband had hired for heror perhaps theproprietorsof that instrument had fetched it awaydecliningfarther creditor perhaps she had a particularattachmentfor the one which she had just tried to purchaserecollectingit in old dayswhen she used to play uponitin thelittle sitting-room of our dear Amelia Sedley.

The salewas at the old house in Russell Squarewherewe passedsome evenings together at the beginning ofthisstory.  Good old John Sedley was a ruined man.  Hisname hadbeen proclaimed as a defaulter on the StockExchangeand his bankruptcy and commercial exterminationhadfollowed.  Mr. Osborne's butler came to buy some of thefamousport wine to transfer to the cellars over the way.As for onedozen well-manufactured silver spoons andforks atper oz.and one dozen dessert ditto dittothere werethree young stockbrokers (Messrs. DaleSpiggotand Daleof Threadneedle Streetindeed)whohaving had dealings with the old manandkindnessesfrom him in days when he was kind toeverybodywith whom he dealtsent this little spar outof thewreck with their love to good Mrs. Sedley; and withrespect tothe pianoas it had been Amelia'sand as shemight missit and want one nowand as Captain WilliamDobbincould no more play upon it than he could danceon thetight ropeit is probable that he did not purchasetheinstrument for his own use. In a wordit arrived that evening at a wonderful smallcottage ina street leading from the Fulham Road--oneof thosestreets which have the finest romantic names--(this wascalled St. Adelaide VillasAnna-Maria RoadWest)where the houses look like baby-houses; wherethepeoplelooking out of the first-floor windowsmustinfalliblyas you thinksit with their feet in the parlours;where theshrubs in the little gardens in front bloom withaperennial display of little children's pinaforeslittle redsockscaps&c. (polyandria polygynia); whence youhear thesound of jingling spinets and women singing;wherelittle porter pots hang on the railings sunningthemselves;whither of evenings you see City clerkspaddingwearily: here it was that Mr. Clappthe clerk ofMr.Sedleyhad his domicileand in this asylum the goodoldgentleman hid his head with his wife and daughterwhen thecrash came. Jos Sedleyhad acted as a man of his dispositionwouldwhen the announcement of the family misfortunereachedhim.  He did not come to Londonbut he wroteto hismother to draw upon his agents for whatevermoney waswantedso that his kind broken-spirited oldparentshad no present poverty to fear.  This doneJoswent on atthe boarding-house at Cheltenham prettymuch asbefore.  He drove his curricle; he drank hisclaret; heplayed his rubber; he told his Indian storiesand theIrish widow consoled and flattered him as usual.Hispresent of moneyneedful as it wasmade littleimpressionon his parents; and I have heard Amelia saythat thefirst day on which she saw her father lift up hishead afterthe failure was on the receipt of the packetof forksand spoons with the young stockbrokers' loveover whichhe burst out crying like a childbeing greatlymoreaffected than even his wifeto whom the presentwasaddressed.  Edward Dalethe junior of the housewhopurchased the spoons for the firmwasin factverysweet uponAmeliaand offered for her in spite of all.He marriedMiss Louisa Cutts (daughter of Higham andCuttstheeminent cornfactors) with a handsome fortunein 1820;and is now living in splendourand with anumerousfamilyat his elegant villaMuswell Hill.  Butwe mustnot let the recollections of this good fellowcause usto diverge from the principal history.

I hope thereader has much too good an opinion ofCaptainand Mrs. Crawley to suppose that they everwould havedreamed of paying a visit to so remote adistrictas Bloomsburyif they thought the family whomtheyproposed to honour with a visit were not merelyout offashionbut out of moneyand could beserviceableto them in no possible manner.  Rebecca wasentirelysurprised at the sight of the comfortable old housewhere shehad met with no small kindnessransacked bybrokersand bargainersand its quiet family treasuresgiven upto public desecration and plunder.  A monthafter herflightshe had bethought her of AmeliaandRawdonwith a horse-laughhad expressed a perfectwillingnessto see young George Osborne again.  "He's averyagreeable acquaintanceBeck" the wag added.  "I'dlike tosell him another horseBeck.  I'd like to play afew moregames at billiards with him.  He'd be what Icalluseful just nowMrs. C.--haha!" by which sort ofspeech itis not to be supposed that Rawdon Crawley hadadeliberate desire to cheat Mr. Osborne at playbut onlywished totake that fair advantage of him which almosteverysporting gentleman in Vanity Fair considers to behis duefrom his neighbour. The oldaunt was long in "coming-to." A month hadelapsed. Rawdon was denied the door by Mr. Bowls; hisservantscould not get a lodgment in the house at ParkLane; hisletters were sent back unopened.  Miss Crawleyneverstirred out--she was unwell--and Mrs. Buteremainedstill and never left her.  Crawley and his wife bothof themaugured evil from the continued presence ofMrs. Bute. "GadI begin to perceive now why she was alwaysbringingus together at Queen's Crawley" Rawdon said. "Whatan artful little woman!" ejaculated Rebecca. "WellI don't regret itif you don't" the Captaincriedstill in an amorous rapture with his wifewhorewardedhim with a kiss by way of replyand wasindeed nota little gratified by the generous confidenceof herhusband. "Ifhe had but a little more brains" she thought toherself"I might make something of him"; but she neverlet himperceive the opinion she had of him; listenedwithindefatigable complacency to his stories of thestable andthe mess; laughed at all his jokes; felt thegreatestinterest in Jack Spatterdashwhose cab-horsehad comedownand Bob Martingalewho had beentaken upin a gambling-houseand Tom Cinqbarswhowas goingto ride the steeplechase.  When he came homeshe wasalert and happy: when he went out she pressedhim to go:when he stayed at homeshe played andsang forhimmade him good drinkssuperintended hisdinnerwarmed his slippersand steeped his soul incomfort. The best of women (I have heard my grandmothersay) arehypocrites.  We don't know how muchthey hidefrom us: how watchful they are when theyseem mostartless and confidential: how often those franksmileswhich they wear so easilyare traps to cajole orelude ordisarm--I don't mean in your mere coquettesbut yourdomestic modelsand paragons of female virtue.Who hasnot seen a woman hide the dulness of a stupidhusbandor coax the fury of a savage one?  We acceptthisamiable slavishnessand praise a woman for it: wecall thispretty treachery truth.  A good housewife is ofnecessitya humbug; and Cornelia's husband washoodwinkedas Potiphar was--only in a different way. By theseattentionsthat veteran rakeRawdon Crawleyfoundhimself converted into a very happy and submissivemarriedman.  His former haunts knew him not.They askedabout him once or twice at his clubsbut didnot misshim much: in those booths of Vanity Fair peopleseldom domiss each other.  His secluded wife ever smilingandcheerfulhis little comfortable lodgingssnugmealsandhomely eveningshad all the charms of noveltyandsecrecy.  The marriage was not yet declared to theworldorpublished in the Morning Post.  All his creditorswould havecome rushing on him in a bodyhad theyknown thathe was united to a woman without fortune."Myrelations won't cry fie upon me" Becky saidwithrather abitter laugh; and she was quite contented to waituntil theold aunt should be reconciledbefore she claimedher placein society.  So she lived at Bromptonandmeanwhilesaw no oneor only those few of her husband'smalecompanions who were admitted into her littledining-room. These were all charmed with her.  The littledinnersthe laughing and chattingthe music afterwardsdelightedall who participated in these enjoyments.  MajorMartingalenever thought about asking tosee themarriage licenceCaptain Cinqbars was perfectlyenchantedwith her skill in making punch.  And youngLieutenantSpatterdash (who was fond of piquetandwhomCrawley would often invite) was evidently andquicklysmitten by Mrs. Crawley; but her owncircumspectionand modesty never forsook her for amomentand Crawley's reputation as a fire-eating andjealouswarrior was a further and complete defence tohis littlewife. There aregentlemen of very good blood and fashionin thiscitywho never have entered a lady's drawing-room; sothat though Rawdon Crawley's marriage mightbe talkedabout in his countywhereof courseMrs.Bute hadspread the newsin London it was doubtedornotheededor not talked about at all.  He lived comfortablyoncredit.  He had a large capital of debtswhichlaid outjudiciouslywill carry a man along for manyyearsandon which certain men about town contriveto live ahundred times better than even men with readymoney cando.  Indeed who is there that walks Londonstreetsbut can point out a half-dozen of men ridingby himsplendidlywhile he is on footcourted by fashionbowed intotheir carriages by tradesmendenyingthemselvesnothingand living on who knows what?  Wesee JackThriftless prancing in the parkor darting in hisbroughamdown Pall Mall: we eat his dinners served onhismiraculous plate.  "How did this begin" we say"orwhere willit end?" "My dear fellow" I heard Jack oncesay"Iowe money in every capital in Europe."  The endmust comesome daybut in the meantime Jack thrivesas much asever; people are glad enough to shake him bythe handignore the little dark stories that are whisperedevery nowand then against himand pronounce him agood-naturedjovialreckless fellow. Truthobliges us to confess that Rebecca had married agentlemanof this order.  Everything was plentiful in hishouse butready moneyof which their menage prettyearly feltthe want; and reading the Gazette one dayand comingupon the announcement of "Lieutenant G.Osborne tobe Captain by purchasevice Smithwhoexchanges"Rawdon uttered that sentiment regardingAmelia'sloverwhich ended in the visit to Russell Square. WhenRawdon and his wife wished to communicatewithCaptain Dobbin at the saleand to know particularsof thecatastrophe which had befallen Rebecca'soldacquaintancesthe Captain had vanished; and suchinformationas they got was from a stray porter or brokerat theauction. "Lookat them with their hooked beaks" Becky saidgettinginto the buggyher picture under her armingreatglee.  "They're like vultures after a battle." "Don'tknow.  Never was in actionmy dear.  AskMartingale;he was in Spainaide-de-camp to GeneralBlazes." "Hewas a very kind old manMr. Sedley" Rebeccasaid; "I'mreally sorry he's gone wrong." "Ostockbrokers--bankrupts--used to ityou know"Rawdonrepliedcutting a fly off the horse's ear. "Iwish we could have afforded some of the plateRawdon"the wife continued sentimentally.  "Five-and-twentyguineas was monstrously dear for that little piano.We choseit at Broadwood's for Ameliawhen she camefromschool.  It only cost five-and-thirty then." "What-d'-ye-call'em--'Osborne'will cry off nowIsupposesince the family is smashed.  How cut up yourprettylittle friend will be; heyBecky?" "Idaresay she'll recover it" Becky said with a smile--and theydrove on and talked about something else.

CHAPTERXVIIIWhoPlayed on the Piano Captain Dobbin Bought

Oursurprised story now finds itself for a momentamong veryfamous events and personagesandhanging onto the skirts of history.  When the eaglesofNapoleon Bonapartethe Corsican upstartwereflyingfrom Provencewhere they had perched after a briefsojourn inElbaand from steeple to steeple until theyreachedthe towers of Notre DameI wonder whether theImperialbirds had any eye for a little corner of the parishofBloomsburyLondonwhich you might have thought so quietthat eventhe whirring and flapping of those mighty wingswould passunobserved there? "Napoleonhas landed at Cannes."  Such news mightcreate apanic at Viennaand cause Russia to drop hiscardsandtake Prussia into a cornerand TalleyrandandMetternich to wag their heads togetherwhile PrinceHardenbergand even the present Marquis of Londonderrywerepuzzled; but how was this intelligence to affect a younglady inRussell Squarebefore whose door the watchmansang thehours when she was asleep: whoif shestrolledin the squarewas guarded there by therailingsand the beadle:  whoif she walked ever so shorta distanceto buy a ribbon in Southampton Rowwasfollowedby Black Sambo with an enormous cane:  whowas alwayscared fordressedput to bedand watchedover byever so many guardian angelswith and withoutwages? Bon DieuI sayis it not hard that the fatefulrush ofthe great Imperial struggle can't take place withoutaffectinga poor little harmless girl of eighteenwhoisoccupied in billing and cooingor working muslincollars inRussell Square?  You tookindlyhomely flower!--is thegreat roaring war tempest coming to sweep youdownherealthough cowering under the shelter ofHolborn? Yes; Napoleon is flinging his last stakeand poorlittleEmmy Sedley's happiness formssomehowpart of it. In thefirst placeher father's fortune was swept downwith thatfatal news.  All his speculations had of late gonewrong withthe luckless old gentleman.  Ventures hadfailed;merchants had broken; funds had risen when hecalculatedthey would fall.  What need to particularize?If successis rare and sloweverybody knows how quickand easyruin is.  Old Sedley had kept his own sad counsel.Everythingseemed to go on as usual in the quietopulenthouse; the good-natured mistress pursuingquiteunsuspiciouslyher bustling idlenessand daily easyavocations;the daughter absorbed still in one selfishtenderthoughtand quite regardless of all the world besideswhen thatfinal crash cameunder which the worthyfamilyfell. One nightMrs. Sedley was writing cards for a party;theOsbornes had given oneand she must not bebehindhand;John Sedleywho had come home very late fromthe Citysate silent at the chimney sidewhile his wifewasprattling to him; Emmy had gone up to her roomailing andlow-spirited.  "She's not happy" the motherwent on. "George Osborne neglects her.  I've no patiencewith theairs of those people.  The girls have not been inthe housethese three weeks; and George has been twicein townwithout coming.  Edward Dale saw him at theOpera. Edward would marry her I'm sure: and there'sCaptainDobbin whoI thinkwould--only I hate allarmy men. Such a dandy as George has become.  Withhismilitary airsindeed!  We must show some folks thatwe're asgood as they.  Only give Edward Dale anyencouragementand you'll see.  We must have a partyMr.S. Why don't you speakJohn?  Shall I say Tuesday fortnight?Why don'tyou answer? Good GodJohnwhat has happened?" JohnSedley sprang up out of his chair to meet hiswifewhoran to him.  He seized her in his armsandsaid witha hasty voice"We're ruinedMary.  We'vegot theworld to begin over againdear.  It's best that youshouldknow alland at once."  As he spokehe trembledin everylimband almost fell.  He thought the news wouldhaveoverpowered his wife--his wifeto whom he hadnever saida hard word.  But it was he that was the mostmovedsudden as the shock was to her.  When he sankback intohis seatit was the wife that took the office ofconsoler. She took his trembling handand kissed itandput itround her neck: she called him her John--her dearJohn--herold man--her kind old man; she poured out ahundredwords of incoherent love and tenderness; herfaithfulvoice and simple caresses wrought this sad heartup to aninexpressible delight and anguishand cheeredandsolaced his over-burdened soul. Only oncein the course of the long night as they satetogetherand poor Sedley opened his pent-up soulandtold thestory of his losses and embarrassments--thetreason ofsome of his oldest friendsthe manly kindnessof somefrom whom he never could have expected it--ina generalconfession--only once did the faithful wife giveway toemotion. "MyGodmy Godit will break Emmy's heart" shesaid. The fatherhad forgotten the poor girl.  She was lyingawake andunhappyoverhead.  In the midst of friendshomeandkind parentsshe was alone.  To how manypeople canany one tell all?  Who will be open where thereis nosympathyor has call to speak to those who nevercanunderstand?  Our gentle Amelia was thus solitary.  Shehad noconfidanteso to speakever since she had anythingtoconfide.  She could not tell the old mother herdoubts andcares; the would-be sisters seemed every daymorestrange to her.  And she had misgivings and fearswhich shedared not acknowledge to herselfthough shewas alwayssecretly brooding over them.

Her hearttried to persist in asserting that GeorgeOsbornewas worthy and faithful to herthough she knewotherwise. How many a thing had she saidand got noecho fromhim.  How many suspicions of selfishness andindifferencehad she to encounter and obstinatelyovercome. To whom could the poor little martyr tell thesedailystruggles and tortures?  Her hero himself only halfunderstoodher.  She did not dare to own that the man sheloved washer inferior; or to feel that she had given herheart awaytoo soon.  Given oncethe pure bashfulmaiden wastoo modesttoo tendertoo trustfultooweaktoomuch woman to recall it.  We are Turks withtheaffections of our women; and have made themsubscribeto our doctrine too.  We let their bodies go abroadliberallyenoughwith smiles and ringlets and pinkbonnets todisguise them instead of veils and yakmaks.  Buttheirsouls must be seen by only one manand they obeynotunwillinglyand consent to remain at home as ourslaves--ministeringto us and doing drudgery for us.

Soimprisoned and tortured was this gentle little heartwhen inthe month of MarchAnno Domini 1815Napoleonlanded at Cannesand Louis XVIII fledand allEurope wasin alarmand the funds felland old JohnSedley wasruined.

We are notgoing to follow the worthy old stockbrokerthroughthose last pangs and agonies of ruin throughwhich hepassed before his commercial demise befell.Theydeclared him at the Stock Exchange; he wasabsentfrom his house of business: his bills were protested:his act ofbankruptcy formal.  The house and furniture ofRussellSquare were seized and sold upand he and hisfamilywere thrust awayas we have seento hide theirheadswhere they might.

JohnSedley had not the heart to review the domesticestablishmentwho have appeared now and anon in ourpages andof whom he was now forced by poverty totakeleave.  The wages of those worthy people weredischargedwith that punctuality which men frequently showwho onlyowe in great sums--they were sorry to leavegoodplaces--but they did not break their hearts at partingfrom theiradored master and mistress.  Amelia's maidwasprofuse in condolencesbut went off quite resignedto betterherself in a genteeler quarter of the town.  BlackSambowith the infatuation of his professiondeterminedon settingup a public-house.  Honest old Mrs. Blenkinsopindeedwho had seen the birth of Jos and Ameliaandthe wooingof John Sedley and his wifewas for stayingby themwithout wageshaving amassed a considerablesum intheir service: and she accompanied the fallenpeopleinto their new and humble place of refugewhereshe tendedthem and grumbled against them for a while.

Of allSedley's opponents in his debates with his creditorswhich nowensuedand harassed the feelings of thehumiliatedold gentleman so severelythat in six weeks heoldenedmore than he had done for fifteen years before--the mostdetermined and obstinate seemed to be JohnOsbornehis old friend and neighbour--John Osbornewhom hehad set up in life--who was under a hundredobligationsto him--and whose son was to marry Sedley'sdaughter. Any one of these circumstances would accountfor thebitterness of Osborne's opposition.

When oneman has been under very remarkableobligationsto anotherwith whom he subsequently quarrelsa commonsense of decencyas it weremakes of theformer amuch severer enemy than a mere strangerwould be. To account for your own hard-heartedness andingratitudein such a caseyou are bound to prove theotherparty's crime.  It is not that you are selfishbrutaland angryat the failure of a speculation--nono--it isthat yourpartner has led you into it by the basest treacheryand withthe most sinister motives.  From a meresense ofconsistencya persecutor is bound to show thatthe fallenman is a villain--otherwise hethe persecutoris awretch himself.

And as ageneral rulewhich may make all creditorswho areinclined to be severe pretty comfortable in theirmindsnomen embarrassed are altogether honestverylikely. They conceal something; they exaggerate chancesof goodluck; hide away the real state of affairs; say thatthings areflourishing when they are hopelesskeep asmilingface (a dreary smile it is) upon the verge ofbankruptcy--areready to lay hold of any pretext fordelay orof any moneyso as to stave off the inevitableruin a fewdays longer.  "Down with such dishonesty"says thecreditor in triumphand reviles his sinkingenemy. "You foolwhy do you catch at a straw?" calmgood sensesays to the man that is drowning.  "You villainwhy do youshrink from plunging into the irretrievableGazette?"says prosperity to the poor devil battling inthat blackgulf.  Who has not remarked the readiness withwhich theclosest of friends and honestest of men suspectand accuseeach other of cheating when they fall outon moneymatters? Everybody does it.  Everybody is rightI supposeand the world is a rogue.

ThenOsborne had the intolerable sense of formerbenefitsto goad and irritate him: these are always acause ofhostility aggravated.  Finallyhe had to break offthe matchbetween Sedley's daughter and his son; andas it hadgone very far indeedand as the poor girl'shappinessand perhaps character were compromisedit wasnecessaryto show the strongest reasons for the ruptureand forJohn Osborne to prove John Sedley to be a verybadcharacter indeed.

At themeetings of creditorsthenhe comported himselfwith asavageness and scorn towards Sedleywhichalmostsucceeded in breaking the heart of that ruinedbankruptman.  On George's intercourse with Amelia heput aninstant veto--menacing the youth with maledictionsif hebroke his commandsand vilipending thepoorinnocent girl as the basest and most artful of vixens.One of thegreat conditions of anger and hatred isthatyou musttell and believe lies against the hated objectinorderaswe saidto be consistent.

When thegreat crash came--the announcement ofruinandthe departure from Russell Squareand thedeclarationthat all was over between her and George--alloverbetween her and loveher and happinessher andfaith inthe world--a brutal letter from John Osbornetold herin a few curt lines that her father's conduct hadbeen ofsuch a nature that all engagements between thefamilieswere at an end--when the final award cameitdid notshock her so much as her parentsas her motherratherexpected (for John Sedley himself was entirelyprostratein the ruins of his own affairs and shatteredhonour). Amelia took the news very palely and calmly.It wasonly the confirmation of the dark presages whichhad longgone before.  It was the mere reading of thesentence--ofthe crime she had long ago been guilty--thecrime ofloving wronglytoo violentlyagainst reason.She toldno more of her thoughts now than she hadbefore. She seemed scarcely more unhappy now whenconvincedall hope was overthan before when she felt butdared notconfess that it was gone.  So she changed fromthe largehouse to the small one without any mark ordifference;remained in her little room for the most part;pinedsilently; and died away day by day.  I do not meanto saythat all females are so.  My dear Miss BullockIdo notthink your heart would break in this way.  You areastrong-minded young woman with proper principles.I do notventure to say that mine would; it has sufferedanditmust be confessedsurvived.  But there are somesouls thusgently constitutedthus frailand delicateandtender.

Wheneverold John Sedley thought of the affairbetweenGeorge and Ameliaor alluded to itit was withbitternessalmost as great as Mr. Osborne himself hadshown. He cursed Osborne and his family as heartlesswickedand ungrateful.  No power on earthhe sworewouldinduce him to marry his daughter to the son ofsuch avillainand he ordered Emmy to banish Georgefrom hermindand to return all the presents and letterswhich shehad ever had from him.

Shepromised acquiescenceand tried to obey.  She putup the twoor three trinkets: andas for the lettersshedrew themout of the place.where she kept them; andread themover--as if she did not know them by heartalready:but she could not part with them.  That effortwas toomuch for her; she placed them back in herbosomagain--as you have seen a woman nurse a childthat isdead.  Young Amelia felt that she would die or loseher sensesoutrightif torn away from this last consolation.How sheused to blush and lighten up when thoseletterscame!  How she used to trip away with a beatingheartsothat she might read unseen!  If they were coldyet howperversely this fond little soul interpreted themintowarmth.  If they were short or selfishwhat excusesshe foundfor the writer!

It wasover these few worthless papers that she broodedandbrooded.  She lived in her past life--every letterseemed torecall some circumstance of it.  How well sherememberedthem all!  His looks and toneshis dresswhat hesaid and how--these relics and remembrancesof deadaffection were all that were left her in the world.And thebusiness of her lifewas--to watch the corpseof Love.

To deathshe looked with inexpressible longing.  ThenshethoughtI shall always be able to follow him.  I am notpraisingher conduct or setting her up as a model forMissBullock to imitate.  Miss B. knows how to regulateherfeelings better than this poor little creature.  Miss B.wouldnever have committed herself as that imprudentAmelia haddone; pledged her love irretrievably;confessedher heart awayand got back nothing--only abrittlepromise which was snapt and worthless in amoment. A long engagement is a partnership which oneparty isfree to keep or to breakbut which involves allthecapital of the other.

Becautious thenyoung ladies; be wary how youengage. Be shy of loving frankly; never tell all you feelor(a betterway still)feel very little.  See the consequencesof beingprematurely honest and confidingand mistrustyourselvesand everybody.  Get yourselves married as theydo inFrancewhere the lawyers are the bridesmaids andconfidantes. At any ratenever have any feelings whichmay makeyou uncomfortableor make any promiseswhich youcannot at any required moment command andwithdraw. That is the way to get onand be respectedand have avirtuous character in Vanity Fair.

If Ameliacould have heard the comments regardingher whichwere made in the circle from which her father'sruin hadjust driven hershe would have seen what herown crimeswereand how entirely her character wasjeopardised. Such criminal imprudence Mrs. Smith neverknew of;such horrid familiarities Mrs. Brown hadalwayscondemnedand the end might be a warning to HERdaughters. "Captain Osborneof coursecould not marryabankrupt's daughter" the Misses Dobbin said.  "It wasquiteenough to have been swindled by the father.  As forthatlittle Ameliaher folly had really passed all--"

"Allwhat?" Captain Dobbin roared out.  "Haven't theybeenengaged ever since they were children?  Wasn't itas good asa marriage?  Dare any soul on earth breathe awordagainst the sweetestthe purestthe tenderestthemostangelical of young women?"

"LaWilliamdon't be so highty-tighty with US.  We'renot men. We can't fight you" Miss Jane said.  "We've saidnothingagainst Miss Sedley: but that her conductthroughoutwas MOST IMPRUDENTnot to call it by anyworsename; and that her parents are people whocertainlymerit their misfortunes."

"Hadn'tyou betternow that Miss Sedley is freeproposefor her yourselfWilliam?" Miss Ann askedsarcastically. "It would be a most eligible familyconnection. He!  he!"

"Imarry her!" Dobbin saidblushing very muchandtalkingquick.  "If you are so readyyoung ladiesto chopandchangedo you suppose that she is?  Laugh and sneerat thatangel.  She can't hear it; and she's miserable andunfortunateand deserves to be laughed at.  Go onjokingAnn.  You're the wit of the familyand the otherslike tohear it."

"Imust tell you again we're not in a barrackWilliam"Miss Annremarked.

"In abarrackby Jove--I wish anybody in a barrackwould saywhat you do" cried out this uproused Britishlion. "I should like to hear a man breathe a word againstherbyJupiter.  But men don't talk in this wayAnn: it'sonlywomenwho get together and hissand shriekandcackle. Thereget away--don't begin to cry.  I only saidyou were acouple of geese" Will Dobbin saidperceivingMiss Ann'spink eyes were beginning to moisten asusual. "Wellyou're not geeseyou're swans--anythingyou likeonly dodo leave Miss Sedley alone."

Anythinglike William's infatuation about that silly littleflirtingogling thing was never knownthe mammaandsisters agreed together in thinking: and they trembledlestherengagement being off with Osborneshe shouldtake upimmediately her other admirer and Captain.In whichforebodings these worthy young women nodoubtjudged according to the best of their experience; orrather(for as yet they had had no opportunities ofmarryingor of jilting) according to their own notions ofright andwrong.

"Itis a mercyMammathat the regiment is orderedabroad"the girls said.  "THIS dangerat any rateisspared ourbrother."

Suchindeedwas the fact; and so it is that the FrenchEmperorcomes in to perform a part in this domesticcomedy ofVanity Fair which we are now playingandwhichwould never have been enacted without theinterventionof this august mute personage.  It was hethatruined the Bourbons and Mr. John Sedley.  It washe whosearrival in his capital called up all France inarms todefend him there; and all Europe to oust him.While theFrench nation and army were swearing fidelityround theeagles in the Champ de Marsfour mightyEuropeanhosts were getting in motion for the greatchasse al'aigle; and one of these was a British armyofwhich twoheroes of oursCaptain Dobbin and CaptainOsborneformed a portion.

The newsof Napoleon's escape and landing wasreceivedby the gallant --th with a fiery delight andenthusiasmwhich everybody can understand who knowsthatfamous corps.  From the colonel to the smallestdrummer inthe regimentall were filled with hope andambitionand patriotic fury; and thanked the French Emperoras for apersonal kindness in coming to disturb the peaceofEurope.  Now was the time the --th had so longpantedforto show their comrades in arms that theycouldfight as well as the Peninsular veteransand thatall thepluck and valour of the --th had not been killedby theWest Indies and the yellow fever.  Stubble andSpooneylooked to get their companies without purchase.Before theend of the campaign (which she resolvedto share)Mrs. Major O'Dowd hoped to writeherselfMrs. Colonel O'DowdC.B.  Our two friends(Dobbinand Osborne) were quite as much excited as therest: andeach in his way--Mr. Dobbin very quietlyMr.Osbornevery loudly and energetically--was bent upondoing hisdutyand gaining his share of honour anddistinction.

Theagitation thrilling through the country and armyinconsequence of this news was so greatthat privatematterswere little heeded: and hence probably GeorgeOsbornejust gazetted to his companybusy with preparationsfor themarchwhich must come inevitablyandpantingfor further promotion--was not so much affectedby otherincidents which would have interested him at amore quietperiod.  He was notit must be confessedvery muchcast down by good old Mr. Sedley's catastrophe.He triedhis new uniformwhich became himveryhandsomelyon the day when the first meeting ofthecreditors of the unfortunate gentleman took place.His fathertold him of the wickedrascallyshamefulconduct ofthe bankruptreminded him of what he hadsaid aboutAmeliaand that their connection was brokenoff forever; and gave him that evening a good sum ofmoney topay for the new clothes and epaulets in whichhe lookedso well.  Money was always useful to this free-handedyoung fellowand he took it without many words.The billswere up in the Sedley housewhere he hadpassed somanymany happy hours.  He could seethem as hewalked from home that night (to the OldSlaughters'where he put up when in town) shining whitein themoon.  That comfortable home was shutthenuponAmelia andher parents: where had they taken refuge?Thethought of their ruin affected him not a little.  Hewas verymelancholy that night in the coffee-room attheSlaughters'; and drank a good dealas his comradesremarkedthere.

Dobbincame in presentlycautioned him about thedrinkwhich he only tookhe saidbecause he wasdeucedlow; but when his friend began to put to himclumsyinquiriesand asked him for news in a significantmannerOsborne declined entering into conversation withhimavowinghoweverthat he was devilish disturbedandunhappy.

Three daysafterwardsDobbin found Osborne in hisroom atthe barracks--his head on the tablea numberof papersaboutthe young Captain evidently in a stateof greatdespondency.  "She--she's sent me back somethings Igave her--some damned trinkets.  Look here!"There wasa little packet directed in the well-known handto CaptainGeorge Osborneand some things lying about--a ringa silver knife he had boughtas a boyfor herat a fair;a gold chainand a locket with hair in it.  "It'sall over"said hewith a groan of sickening remorse."LookWillyou may read it if you like."

There wasa little letter of a few linesto which hepointedwhich said:

My papahas ordered me to return to you thesepresentswhich you made in happier days to me; and Iam towrite to you for the last time.  I thinkI know youfeel asmuch as I do the blow which has come upon us.It is Ithat absolve you from an engagement which isimpossiblein our present misery.  I am sure you had noshare initor in the cruel suspicions of Mr. Osbornewhich arethe hardest of all our griefs to bear.  Farewell.Farewell. I pray God to strengthen me to bear this andothercalamitiesand to bless you always.     A.

I shalloften play upon the piano--your piano.  It waslike youto send it.

Dobbin wasvery soft-hearted.  The sight of womenandchildren in pain always used to melt him.  The ideaof Ameliabroken-hearted and lonely tore that good-naturedsoul with anguish.  And he broke out into anemotionwhich anybody who likes may consider unmanly.He sworethat Amelia was an angelto which Osbornesaid ayewith all his heart.  Hetoohad been reviewingthehistory of their lives--and had seen her from herchildhoodto her present ageso sweetso innocentsocharmingly simpleand artlessly fond and tender.

What apang it was to lose all that: to have had it andnot prizedit!  A thousand homely scenes and recollectionscrowded onhim--in which he always saw her goodandbeautiful.  And for himselfhe blushed with remorseand shameas the remembrance of his own selfishnessandindifference contrasted with that perfect purity.  Fora whileglorywareverything was forgottenand thepair offriends talked about her only.

"Whereare they?" Osborne askedafter a long talkand a longpause--andin truthwith no little shame atthinkingthat he had taken no steps to follow her.  "Whereare they?There's no address to the note."

Dobbinknew.  He had not merely sent the piano; buthadwritten a note to Mrs. Sedleyand asked permissionto comeand see her--and he had seen herand Ameliatooyesterdaybefore he came down to Chatham; andwhat ismorehe had brought that farewell letter andpacketwhich had so moved them.

Thegood-natured fellow had found Mrs. Sedley onlytoowilling to receive himand greatly agitated by thearrival ofthe pianowhichas she conjecturedMUST havecome fromGeorgeand was a signal of amity on hispart. Captain Dobbin did not correct this error of theworthyladybut listened to all her story of complaintsandmisfortunes with great sympathy--condoled withher lossesand privationsand agreed in reprehending thecruelconduct of Mr. Osborne towards his first benefactor.When shehad eased her overflowing bosom somewhatand pouredforth many of her sorrowshe had thecourage toask actually to see Ameliawho was above inher roomas usualand whom her mother led tremblingdownstairs.

Herappearance was so ghastlyand her look of despairsopatheticthat honest William Dobbin was frightenedas hebeheld it; and read the most fatal forebodings inthat palefixed face.  After sitting in his company a minuteor twoshe put the packet into his handand said"Takethis to Captain Osborneif you pleaseand--and Ihope he'squite well--and it was very kind of you tocome andsee us--and we like our new house very much.And I--Ithink I'll go upstairsMammafor I'm not verystrong."And with thisand a curtsey and a smilethepoor childwent her way.  The motheras she led her upcast backlooks of anguish towards Dobbin.  The goodfellowwanted no such appeal.  He loved her himself toofondly forthat.  Inexpressible griefand pityand terrorpursuedhimand he came away as if he was a criminalafterseeing her.

WhenOsborne heard that his friend had found herhe madehot and anxious inquiries regarding the poorchild. How was she?  How did she look?  What did shesay? His comrade took his handand looked him in theface.

"Georgeshe's dying" William Dobbin said--and couldspeak nomore.

There wasa buxom Irish servant-girlwho performedall theduties of the little house where the Sedley familyhad foundrefuge: and this girl had in vainon manypreviousdaysstriven to give Amelia aid or consolation.Emmy wasmuch too sad to answeror even to be awareof theattempts the other was making in her favour.

Four hoursafter the talk between Dobbin and Osbornethisservant-maid came into Amelia's roomwhere shesate asusualbrooding silently over her letters--herlittletreasures.  The girlsmilingand looking arch andhappymade many trials to attract poor Emmy'sattentionwhohowevertook no heed of her.

"MissEmmy" said the girl.

"I'mcoming" Emmy saidnot looking round.

"There'sa message" the maid went on.  "There'ssomething--somebody--surehere's a new letter for you--don't bereading them old ones any more." And she gaveher aletterwhich Emmy tookand read.

"Imust see you" the letter said.  "Dearest Emmy--dearestlove--dearest wifecome to me."

George andher mother were outsidewaiting until shehad readthe letter.

CHAPTERXIXMissCrawley at Nurse

We haveseen how Mrs. Firkinthe lady's maidas soonas anyevent of importance to the Crawley family cameto herknowledgefelt bound to communicate it to Mrs.ButeCrawleyat the Rectory; and have beforementionedhow particularly kind and attentive that good-naturedlady was to Miss Crawley's confidential servant.She hadbeen a gracious friend to Miss Briggsthecompanionalso; and had secured the latter's good-will by anumber ofthose attentions and promiseswhich cost solittle inthe makingand are yet so valuable and agreeable totherecipient.  Indeed every good economist andmanager ofa household must know how cheap and yethowamiable these professions areand what a flavourthey giveto the most homely dish in life.  Who was theblunderingidiot who said that "fine words butter noparsnips"? Half the parsnips of society are served andrenderedpalatable with no other sauce.  As the immortalAlexisSoyer can make more delicious soup for a half-penny thanan ignorant cook can concoct with pounds ofvegetablesand meatso a skilful artist will make a fewsimple andpleasing phrases go farther than ever so muchsubstantialbenefit-stock in the hands of a mere bungler.Nayweknow that substantial benefits often sicken somestomachs;whereasmost will digest any amount of finewordsandbe always eager for more of the same food.Mrs. Butehad told Briggs and Firkin so often of thedepth ofher affection for them; and what she would doif she hadMiss Crawley's fortunefor friends so excellentandattachedthat the ladies in question had the deepestregard forher; and felt as much gratitude andconfidenceas if Mrs. Bute had loaded them with the mostexpensivefavours.

RawdonCrawleyon the other handlike a selfishheavydragoon as he wasnever took the least trouble toconciliatehis aunt's aides-de-campshowed his contemptfor thepair with entire frankness--made Firkin pull offhis bootson one occasion--sent her out in the rain onignominiousmessages--and if he gave her a guineaflungit to heras if it were a box on the ear.  As his aunttoomade abutt of Briggsthe Captain followed theexampleand levelled his jokes at her--jokes about asdelicateas a kick from his charger.  WhereasMrs. Buteconsultedher in matters of taste or difficultyadmiredherpoetryand by a thousand acts of kindness andpolitenessshowed her appreciation of Briggs; and if shemadeFirkin a twopenny-halfpenny presentaccompaniedit with somany complimentsthat the twopence-half-penny wastransmuted into gold in the heart of the gratefulwaiting-maidwhobesideswas looking forwardsquitecontentedly to some prodigious benefit which musthappen toher on the day when Mrs. Bute came into herfortune.

Thedifferent conduct of these two people is pointedoutrespectfully to the attention of persons commencingtheworld.  Praise everybodyI say to such: never besqueamishbut speak out your compliment both point-blank in aman's faceand behind his backwhenyou knowthere is a reasonable chance of his hearing itagain. Never lose a chance of saying a kind word.  AsCollingwoodnever saw a vacant place in his estate buthe took anacorn out of his pocket and popped it in;so dealwith your compliments through life.  An acorncostsnothing; but it may sprout into a prodigious bit oftimber.

In a wordduring Rawdon Crawley's prosperityhe wasonlyobeyed with sulky acquiescence; when his disgracecamethere was nobody to help or pity him.  Whereaswhen Mrs.Bute took the command at Miss Crawley'shousethegarrison there were charmed to act undersuch aleaderexpecting all sorts of promotion from herpromisesher generosityand her kind words.

That hewould consider himself beatenafter one defeatand makeno attempt to regain the position he hadlostMrs.Bute Crawley never allowed herself to suppose.She knewRebecca to be too clever and spirited anddesperatea woman to submit without a struggle; and feltthat shemust prepare for that combatand be incessantlywatchfulagainst assault; or mineor surprise.

In thefirst placethough she held the townwas shesure ofthe principal inhabitant?  Would Miss Crawleyherselfhold out; and had she not a secret longing towelcomeback the ousted adversary?  The old lady likedRawdonand Rebeccawho amused her.  Mrs. Bute couldnotdisguise from herself the fact that none of her partycould socontribute to the pleasures of the town-bredlady. "My girls' singingafter that little odious governess'sI know isunbearable" the candid Rector's wifeowned toherself.  "She always used to go to sleep whenMartha andLouisa played their duets.  Jim's stiffcollegemanners and poor dear Bute's talk about his dogsand horsesalways annoyed her.  If I took her to theRectoryshe would grow angry with us alland flyIknow shewould; and might fall into that horridRawdon'sclutches againand be the victim of that littleviper of aSharp.  Meanwhileit is clear to me that she isexceedinglyunwelland cannot move for some weeksatany rate;during which we must think of some plan toprotecther from the arts of those unprincipled people."

In thevery best-of momentsif anybody told MissCrawleythat she wasor looked illthe trembling oldlady sentoff for her doctor; and I daresay she was veryunwellafter the sudden family eventwhich might serveto shakestronger nerves than hers.  At leastMrs. Butethought itwas her duty to inform the physicianand theapothecaryand the dame-de-compagnieand the domesticsthat MissCrawley was in a most critical stateandthat theywere to act accordingly.  She had the street laidknee-deepwith straw; and the knocker put by with Mr.Bowls'splate.  She insisted that the Doctor should calltwice aday; and deluged her patient with draughts everytwohours.  When anybody entered the roomshe uttereda shshshshso sibilant and ominousthat it frightened thepoor oldlady in her bedfrom which she couldnot lookwithout seeing Mrs. Bute's beady eyes eagerlyfixed onheras the latter sate steadfast in the arm-chairby thebedside.  They seemed to lighten in the dark (forshe keptthe curtains closed) as she moved about theroom onvelvet paws like a cat.  There Miss Crawley layfordays--ever so many days--Mr. Bute reading booksofdevotion to her: for nightslong nightsduring whichshe had tohear the watchman singthe night-light sputter;visited atmidnightthe last thingby the stealthy apothecary;and thenleft to look at Mrs. Bute's twinkling eyesor theflicks of yellow that the rushlight threw on thedrearydarkened ceiling.  Hygeia herself would havefallensick under such a regimen; and how much morethis poorold nervous victim?  It has been said that whenshe was inhealth and good spiritsthis venerableinhabitantof Vanity Fair had as free notions about religionand moralsas Monsieur de Voltaire himself could desirebut whenillness overtook herit was aggravated bythe mostdreadful terrors of deathand an utter cowardicetookpossession of the prostrate old sinner.

Sick-bedhomilies and pious reflections areto be sureout ofplace in mere story-booksand we are not going(after thefashion of some novelists of the present day)to cajolethe.public into a sermonwhen it is only acomedythat the reader pays his money to witness.  Butwithoutpreachingthe truth may surely be borne in mindthat thebustleand triumphand laughterand gaietywhichVanity Fair exhibits in publicdo not always pursuetheperformer into private lifeand that the mostdrearydepression of spirits and dismal repentancessometimesovercome him.  Recollection of the best ordainedbanquetswill scarcely cheer sick epicures.  Reminiscencesof themost becoming dresses and brilliant ball triumphswill govery little way to console faded beauties.  Perhapsstatesmenat a particular period of existencearenot muchgratified at thinking over the most triumphantdivisions;and the success or the pleasure of yesterdaybecomes ofvery small account when a certain(albeituncertain) morrow is in viewabout which all ofus mustsome day or other be speculating.  O brotherwearers ofmotley!  Are there not moments when onegrows sickof grinning and tumblingand the jingling ofcap andbells?  Thisdear friends and companionsis myamiableobject--to walk with you through the Fairtoexaminethe shops and the shows there; and that weshould allcome home after the flareand the noiseandthegaietyand be perfectly miserable in private.

"Ifthat poor man of mine had a head on his shoulders"Mrs. ButeCrawley thought to herself"how useful hemight beunder present circumstancesto this unhappyold lady! He might make her repent of her shockingfree-thinkingways; he might urge her to do her dutyand castoff that odious reprobate who has disgracedhimselfand his family; and he might induce her to dojustice tomy dear girls and the two boyswho requireanddeserveI am sureevery assistance which theirrelativescan give them."

Andasthe hatred of vice is always a progress towardsvirtueMrs. Bute Crawley endeavoured to instilhersister-in-law a proper abhorrence for all RawdonCrawley'smanifold sins: of which his uncle's wife broughtforwardsuch a catalogue as indeed would have servedto condemna whole regiment of young officers.  If a manhascommitted wrong in lifeI don't know any moralistmoreanxious to point his errors out to the world thanhis ownrelations; so Mrs. Bute showed a perfect familyinterestand knowledge of Rawdon's history.  She had alltheparticulars of that ugly quarrel with Captain Markerin whichRawdonwrong from the beginningended inshootingthe Captain.  She knew how the unhappy LordDovedalewhose mamma had taken a house at Oxfordso that hemight be educated thereand who had nevertouched acard in his life till he came to Londonwaspervertedby Rawdon at the Cocoa-Treemade helplesslytipsy bythis abominable seducer and perverter of youthandfleeced of four thousand pounds.  She described withthe mostvivid minuteness the agonies of the countryfamilieswhom he had ruined--the sons whom he hadplungedinto dishonour and poverty--the daughterswhom hehad inveigled into perdition.  She knew the poortradesmenwho were bankrupt by his extravagance--themeanshifts and rogueries with which he had ministeredto it--theastounding falsehoods by which he had imposedupon themost generous of auntsand the ingratitude andridiculeby which he had repaid her sacrifices.  Sheimpartedthese stories gradually to Miss Crawley; gave herthe wholebenefit of them; felt it to be her bounden dutyas aChristian woman and mother of a family to do so;had notthe smallest remorse or compunction for thevictimwhom her tongue was immolating; nayvery likelythoughther act was quite meritoriousand plumedherselfupon her resolute manner of performing it.  Yesif a man'scharacter is to be abusedsay what you willthere'snobody like a relation to do the business.  And oneis boundto ownregarding this unfortunate wretch of aRawdonCrawleythat the mere truth was enough tocondemnhimand that all inventions of scandal were quitesuperfluouspains on his friends' parts.

Rebeccatoobeing now a relativecame in for thefullestshare of Mrs. Bute's kind inquiries.  This indefatigablepursuer oftruth (having given strict orders that thedoor wasto be denied to all emissaries or lettersfromRawdon)took Miss Crawley's carriageand droveto her oldfriend Miss Pinkertonat Minerva HouseChiswickMallto whom she announced the dreadfulintelligenceof Captain Rawdon's seduction by Miss Sharpand fromwhom she got sundry strange particularsregardingthe ex-governess's birth and early history.  Thefriend ofthe Lexicographer had plenty of informationto give. Miss Jemima was made to fetch the drawing-master'sreceipts and letters.  This one was from aspunging-house:that entreated an advance: another wasfull ofgratitude for Rebecca's reception by the ladies ofChiswick:and the last document from the unlucky artist'spen wasthat in whichfrom his dying bedhe recommendedhis orphanchild to Miss Pinkerton's protection.  Therewerejuvenile letters and petitions from Rebeccatoointhecollectionimploring aid for her father or declaringher owngratitude.  Perhaps in Vanity Fair there are nobettersatires than letters.  Take a bundle of your dearfriend'sof ten years back--your dear friend whom youhate now. Look at a file of your sister's! how you clungto eachother till you quarrelled about the twenty-poundlegacy! Get down the round-hand scrawls of your sonwho hashalf broken your heart with selfish undutifulnesssince; ora parcel of your ownbreathing endlessardour andlove eternalwhich were sent back by yourmistresswhen she married the Nabob--your mistress forwhom younow care no more than for Queen Elizabeth.Vowslovepromisesconfidencesgratitudehow queerlythey readafter a while!  There ought to be a law inVanityFair ordering the destruction of every writtendocument(except receipted tradesmen's bills) after acertainbrief and proper interval.  Those quacks andmisanthropeswho advertise indelible Japan ink should bemade toperish along with their wicked discoveries.  Thebest inkfor Vanity Fair use would be one that fadedutterly ina couple of daysand left the paper clean andblanksothat you might write on it to somebody else.

From MissPinkerton's the indefatigable Mrs. Butefollowedthe track of Sharp and his daughter back to thelodgingsin Greek Streetwhich the defunct painter hadoccupied;and where portraits of the landlady in whitesatinandof the husband in brass buttonsdone by Sharpin lieu ofa quarter's rentstill decorated the parlourwalls. Mrs. Stokes was a communicative personandquicklytold all she knew about Mr. Sharp; how dissoluteand poorhe was; how good-natured and amusing; how hewas alwayshunted by bailiffs and duns; howto the landlady's horrorthough shenever could abide the womanhe did notmarry his wife till a short time before herdeath; andwhat a queer little wild vixen his daughterwas; howshe kept them all laughing with her fun andmimicry;how she used to fetch the gin from the public-houseand wasknown in all the studios in the quarter--in briefMrs. Butegot such a full account of her new niece'sparentageeducationand behaviour as wouldscarcelyhave pleased Rebeccahad the latter known thatsuchinquiries were being made concerning her.

Of allthese industrious researches Miss Crawley hadthe fullbenefit.  Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was the daughterof anopera-girl.  She had danced herself.  She had been amodel tothe painters.  She was brought up as becamehermother's daughter.  She drank gin with her father&c.&c. It was a lost woman who was married to a lostman; andthe moral to be inferred from Mrs. Bute'stale wasthat the knavery of the pair was irremediableand thatno properly conducted person should ever noticethemagain.

These werethe materials which prudent Mrs. Butegatheredtogether in Park Lanethe provisions andammunitionas it were with which she fortified the houseagainstthe siege which she knew that Rawdon and hiswife wouldlay to Miss Crawley.

But if afault may be found with her arrangementsitis thisthat she was too eager: she managed rather toowell;undoubtedly she made Miss Crawley more ill thanwasnecessary; and though the old invalid succumbedto herauthorityit was so harassing and severethat thevictimwould be inclined to escape at the very first chancewhich fellin her way.  Managing womenthe ornamentsof theirsex--women who order everything for everybodyand knowso much better than any person concernedwhat isgood for their neighboursdon't sometimesspeculateupon the possibility of a domestic revoltorupon otherextreme consequences resulting from theiroverstrainedauthority.

ThusforinstanceMrs. Butewith the best intentionsno doubtin the worldand wearing herself to death asshe did byforegoing sleepdinnerfresh airfor the sakeof herinvalid sister-in-lawcarried her conviction of theold lady'sillness so far that she almost managed herinto hercoffin.  She pointed out her sacrifices and theirresultsone day to the constant apothecaryMr. Clump.

"I amsuremy dear Mr. Clump" she said"no effortsof minehave been wanting to restore our dear invalidwhom theingratitude of her nephew has laid on the bedofsickness.  I never shrink from personal discomfort: Ineverrefuse to sacrifice myself."

"Yourdevotionit must be confessedis admirable"Mr. Clumpsayswith a low bow; "but--"

"Ihave scarcely closed my eyes since my arrival: Igive upsleephealthevery comfortto my sense of duty.When mypoor James was in the smallpoxdid I allow anyhirelingto nurse him?  No."

"Youdid what became an excellent mothermy dearMadam--thebest of mothers; but--~'

"Asthe mother of a family and the wife of an EnglishclergymanI humbly trust that my principles are good"Mrs. Butesaidwith a happy solemnity of conviction;"andas long as Nature supports meneverneverMr.Clumpwill I desert the post of duty.  Others may bringthat greyhead with sorrow to the bed of sickness (hereMrs. Butewaving her handpointed to one of old MissCrawley'scoffee-coloured frontswhich was perched ona stand inthe dressing-room)but I will never quit it.AhMr.Clump!  I fearI knowthat the couch needsspiritualas well as medical consolation."

"WhatI was going to observemy dear Madam"--here theresolute Clump once more interposed with ablandair--"what I was going to observe when you gaveutteranceto sentiments which do you so much honourwas that Ithink you alarm yourself needlessly about ourkindfriendand sacrifice your own health too prodigallyin herfavour."

"Iwould lay down my life for my dutyor for anymember ofmy husband's family" Mrs. Bute interposed.

"YesMadamif need were; but we don't want MrsButeCrawley to be a martyr" Clump said gallantly.  "DrSquillsand myself have both considered Miss Crawley'scase withevery anxiety and careas you may suppose.  Wesee herlow-spirited and nervous; family events haveagitatedher."

"Hernephew will come to perdition" Mrs. Crawleycried.

"Haveagitated her: and you arrived like a guardianangelmydear Madama positive guardian angelIassureyouto soothe her under the pressure of calamity.But Dr.Squills and I were thinking that our amiablefriend isnot in such a state as renders confinement to herbednecessary.  She is depressedbut this confinementperhapsadds to her depression.  She should have changefresh airgaiety; the most delightful remedies in thepharmacopoeia"Mr. Clump saidgrinning and showinghishandsome teeth.  "Persuade her to risedear Madam;drag herfrom her couch and her low spirits; insist uponher takinglittle drives.  They will restore the roses too toyourcheeksif I may so speak to Mrs. Bute Crawley."

"Thesight of her horrid nephew casually in the Parkwhere I amtold the wretch drives with the brazen partnerof hiscrimes" Mrs. Bute said (letting the cat of selfishnessout of thebag of secrecy)"would cause her sucha shockthat we should have to bring her back to bedagain. She must not go outMr. Clump.  She shall not goout aslong as I remain to watch over her; And as for myhealthwhat matters it?  I give it cheerfullysir.  I sacrificeit at thealtar of my duty."

"Uponmy wordMadam" Mr. Clump now said bluntly"Iwon't answer for her life if she remains locked upin thatdark room.  She is so nervous that we may loseher anyday; and if you wish Captain Crawley to be herheirIwarn you franklyMadamthat you are doingyour verybest to serve him."

"Graciousmercy! is her life in danger?" Mrs. Butecried. "WhywhyMr. Clumpdid you not inform mesooner?"

The nightbeforeMr. Clump and Dr. Squills had had aconsultation(over a bottle of wine at the house of SirLapinWarrenwhose lady was about to present himwith athirteenth blessing)regarding Miss Crawley andher case.

"Whata little harpy that woman from Hampshire isClump"Squills remarked"that has seized upon oldTillyCrawley.  Devilish good Madeira."

"Whata fool Rawdon Crawley has been" Clump replied"togo and marry a governess!  There was somethingabout thegirltoo."

"Greeneyesfair skinpretty figurefamous frontaldevelopment"Squills remarked.  "There is somethingabout her;and Crawley was a foolSquills."

"Ad-- fool--always was" the apothecary replied.

"Ofcourse the old girl will fling him over" said thephysicianand after a pause added"She'll cut up wellIsuppose."

"Cutup" says Clump with a grin; "I wouldn't have hercut up fortwo hundred a year."

"ThatHampshire woman will kill her in two monthsClumpmyboyif she stops about her" Dr. Squills said."Oldwoman; full feeder; nervous subject; palpitation ofthe heart;pressure on the brain; apoplexy; off she goes.Get herupClump; get her out: or I wouldn't give manyweeks'purchase for your two hundred a year." And it wasactingupon this hint that the worthy apothecary spokewith somuch candour to Mrs. Bute Crawley.

Having theold lady under her hand: in bed: with nobodynearMrs.Bute had made more than one assaultupon herto induce her to alter her will.  But Miss Crawley'susualterrors regarding death increased greatly whensuchdismal propositions were made to herand Mrs.Bute sawthat she must get her patient into cheerful spiritsand healthbefore she could hope to attain the pious objectwhich shehad in view.  Whither to take her was thenextpuzzle.  The only place where she is not likely tomeet thoseodious Rawdons is at churchand that won'tamuse herMrs. Bute justly felt.  "We must go and visitourbeautiful suburbs of London" she then thought.  "Ihear theyare the most picturesque in the world"; and soshe had asudden interest for Hampsteadand Hornseyand foundthat Dulwich had great charms for herandgettingher victim into her carriagedrove her to thoserusticspotsbeguiling the little journeys with conversationsaboutRawdon and his wifeand telling every storyto the oldlady which could add to her indignation againstthis pairof reprobates.

PerhapsMrs. Bute pulled the string unnecessarily tight.For thoughshe worked up Miss Crawley to a proper dislikeof herdisobedient nephewthe invalid had a greathatred andsecret terror of her victimizerand pantedto escapefrom her.  After a brief spaceshe rebelledagainstHighgate and Hornsey utterly.  She would go intothe Park. Mrs. Bute knew they would meet the abominableRawdonthereand she was right.  One day in theringRawdon's stanhope came in sight; Rebecca wasseated byhim.  In the enemy's equipage Miss Crawleyoccupiedher usual placewith Mrs. Bute on her leftthepoodle andMiss Briggs on the back seat.  It was a nervousmomentand Rebecca's heart beat quick as she recognized thecarriage;and as the two vehicles crossed eachother in alineshe clasped her handsand looked towardsthespinster with a face of agonized attachment and devotion.Rawdonhimself trembledand his face grew purplebehind hisdyed mustachios.  Only old Briggs was movedin theother carriageand cast her great eyes nervouslytowardsher old friends.  Miss Crawley's bonnet was resolutelyturnedtowards the Serpentine.  Mrs. Bute happened tobe inecstasies with the poodleand was calling him a littledarlingand a sweet little zoggyand a pretty pet.  Thecarriagesmoved oneach in his line.

"Doneby Jove" Rawdon said to his wife.

"Tryonce moreRawdon" Rebecca answered.  "Couldnot youlock your wheels into theirsdearest?"

Rawdon hadnot the heart for that manoeuvre.  Whenthecarriages met againhe stood up in his stanhope; heraised hishand ready to doff his hat; he looked with allhis eyes. But this time Miss Crawley's face was not turnedaway; sheand Mrs. Bute looked him full in the faceand cuttheir nephew pitilessly.  He sank back in his seatwith anoathand striking out of the ringdashed awaydesperatelyhomewards.

It was agallant and decided triumph for Mrs. Bute.But shefelt the danger of many such meetingsas shesaw theevident nervousness of Miss Crawley; and shedeterminedthat it was most necessary for her dearfriend'shealththat they should leave town for a whileandrecommended Brighton very strongly.

CHAPTER XXInWhich Captain Dobbin Acts as the Messenger of Hymen

Withoutknowing howCaptain William Dobbin foundhimselfthe great promoterarrangerand manager of thematchbetween George Osborne and Amelia.  But for himit neverwould have taken place:  he could not butconfess asmuch to himselfand smiled rather bitterly as hethoughtthat he of all men in the world should be thepersonupon whom the care of this marriage had fallen.But thoughindeed the conducting of this negotiation wasabout aspainful a task as could be set to himyet whenhe had aduty to performCaptain Dobbin was accustomedto gothrough it without many words or muchhesitation: andhaving made up his mind completelythat ifMiss Sedley was balked of her husband she woulddie of thedisappointmenthe was determined to use allhis bestendeavours to keep her alive.

I forbearto enter into minute particulars of the interviewbetweenGeorge and Ameliawhen the former wasbroughtback to the feet (or should we venture to say thearms?) ofhis young mistress by the intervention of hisfriendhonest William.  A much harder heart thanGeorge'swould have melted at the sight of that sweetface sosadly ravaged by grief and despairand at thesimpletender accents in which she told her little broken-heartedstory: but as she did not faint when her mothertremblingbrought Osborne to her; and as she only gaverelief toher overcharged griefby laying her head onherlover's shoulder and there weeping for a while themosttendercopiousand refreshing tears--old Mrs.Sedleytoo greatly relievedthought it was best to leavethe youngpersons to themselves; and so quitted Emmycryingover George's handand kissing it humblyas if hewere hersupreme chief and masterand as if she werequite aguilty and unworthy person needing every favourand gracefrom him.

Thisprostration and sweet unrepining obedienceexquisitelytouched and flattered George Osborne.  He saw aslavebefore him in that simple yielding faithful creatureand hissoul within him thrilled secretly somehowat theknowledge of his power.  He would be generous-mindedSultan as he wasand raise up this kneelingEsther andmake a queen of her:  besidesher sadnessand beautytouched him as much as her submissionandso hecheered herand raised her up and forgave hersoto speak. All her hopes and feelingswhich were dyingandwitheringthis her sun having been removed fromherbloomed again and at onceits light being restored.You wouldscarcely have recognised the beaming littleface uponAmelia's pillow that night as the one that waslaid therethe night beforeso wanso lifelesssocarelessof all round about.  The honest Irish maid-servantdelightedwith the changeasked leave to kiss the facethat hadgrown all of a sudden so rosy.  Amelia put herarms roundthe girl's neck and kissed her with all herheartlike a child.  She was little more.  She had that nighta sweetrefreshing sleeplike one--and what a spring ofinexpressiblehappiness as she woke in the morning sunshine!

"Hewill be here again to-day" Amelia thought.  "He isthegreatest and best of men."  And the fact isthatGeorgethought he was one of the generousest creaturesalive: andthat he was making a tremendous sacrifice inmarryingthis young creature.

While sheand Osborne were having their delightfultete-a-teteabove stairsold Mrs. Sedley and CaptainDobbinwere conversing below upon the state of theaffairsand the chances and future arrangements of theyoungpeople.  Mrs. Sedley having brought the two loverstogetherand left them embracing each other with all theirmightlike a true womanwas of opinion that no poweron earthwould induce Mr. Sedley to consent to the matchbetweenhis daughter and the son of a man who had soshamefullywickedlyand monstrously treated him.  Andshe told along story about happier days and their earliersplendourswhen Osborne lived in a very humble way inthe NewRoadand his wife was too glad to receive someof Jos'slittle baby thingswith which Mrs. Sedleyaccommodatedher at the birth of one of Osborne's ownchildren. The fiendish ingratitude of that manshe wassurehadbroken Mr. S.'s heart: and as for a marriagehe wouldnevernevernevernever consent.

"Theymust run away togetherMa'am" Dobbin saidlaughing"and follow the example of Captain RawdonCrawleyand Miss Emmy's friend the little governess."Was itpossible? Well she never!  Mrs. Sedley was allexcitementabout this news.  She wished that Blenkinsop werehere tohear it:  Blenkinsop always mistrusted that MissSharp.--Whatan escape Jos had had! and she describedthealready well-known love-passages between Rebecca andtheCollector of Boggley Wollah.

It wasnothoweverMr. Sedley's wrath which Dobbinfearedsomuch as that of the other parent concernedand heowned that he had a very considerable doubtandanxiety respecting the behaviour of the black-browedold tyrantof a Russia merchant in Russell Square.  Hehasforbidden the match peremptorilyDobbin thought.He knewwhat a savage determined man Osborne wasandhow hestuck by his word.  The only chance George hasofreconcilement" argued his friend"is by distinguishinghimself inthe coming campaign.  If he dies they both gotogether. If he fails in distinction--what then?  He hassome moneyfrom his motherI have heard enough topurchasehis majority--or he must sell out and go anddig inCanadaor rough it in a cottage in the country."With sucha partner Dobbin thought he would not mindSiberia--andstrange to saythis absurd and utterlyimprudentyoung fellow never for a moment considered thatthe wantof means to keep a nice carriage and horsesand of anincome which should enable its possessors toentertaintheir friends genteellyought to operate as barsto theunion of George and Miss Sedley.

It wasthese weighty considerations which made himthink toothat the marriage should take place as quicklyaspossible.  Was he anxious himselfI wonderto have itover.?--aspeoplewhen death has occurredlike to pressforwardthe funeralor when a parting is resolved uponhastenit.  It is certain that Mr. Dobbinhaving taken thematter inhandwas most extraordinarily eager in theconduct ofit.  He urged on George the necessity of immediateaction: he showed the chances of reconciliation withhisfatherwhich a favourable mention of his name in theGazettemust bring about.  If need were he would go himselfand braveboth the fathers in the business.  At alleventshebesought George to go through with it beforethe orderscamewhich everybody expectedfor thedepartureof the regiment from England on foreign service.

Bent uponthese hymeneal projectsand with the applauseandconsent of Mrs. Sedleywho did not care tobreak thematter personally to her husbandMr. Dobbinwent toseek John Sedley at his house of call in the CitytheTapioca Coffee-housewheresince his own officeswere shutupand fate had overtaken himthe poorbroken-downold gentleman used to betake himself dailyand writeletters and receive themand tie them up intomysteriousbundlesseveral of which he carried in theflaps ofhis coat.  I don't know anything more dismal thanthatbusiness and bustle and mystery of a ruined man:  thoselettersfrom the wealthy which he shows you:  those worngreasydocuments promising support and offeringcondolencewhich he places wistfully before youand onwhich hebuilds his hopes of restoration and future fortune.My belovedreader has no doubt in the course ofhisexperience been waylaid by many such a lucklesscompanion. He takes you into the corner; he has his bundleof papersout of his gaping coat pocket; and the tape offand thestring in his mouthand the favourite lettersselectedand laid before you; and who does not know thesad eagerhalf-crazy look which he fixes on you with hishopelesseyes?

Changedinto a man of this sortDobbin found theoncefloridjovialand prosperous John Sedley.  Hiscoatthatused to be so glossy and trimwas white at theseamsandthe buttons showed the copper.  His face hadfallen inand was unshorn; his frill and neckcloth hunglimp underhis bagging waistcoat.  When he used to treatthe boysin old days at a coffee-househe would shoutand laughlouder than anybody thereand have all thewaitersskipping round him; it was quite painful to seehow humbleand civil he was to John of the Tapiocaablear-eyedold attendant in dingy stockings and crackedpumpswhose business it was to serve glasses of wafersandbumpers of ink in pewterand slices of paper to thefrequentersof this dreary house of entertainmentwherenothingelse seemed to be consumed.  As for WilliamDobbinwhom he had tipped repeatedly in his youthandwho hadbeen the old gentleman's butt on a thousandoccasionsold Sedley gave his hand to him in a veryhesitatinghumble manner nowand called him "Sir." Afeeling ofshame and remorse took possession of WilliamDobbin asthe broken old man so received and addressedhimas ifhe himself had been somehow guilty of themisfortuneswhich had brought Sedley so low.

"I amvery glad to see youCaptain Dobbinsir" saysheaftera skulking look or two at his visitor (whose lankyfigure andmilitary appearance caused some excitementlikewiseto twinkle in the blear eyes of the waiter in thecrackeddancing pumpsand awakened the old lady inblackwhodozed among the mouldy old coffee-cups in thebar). "How is the worthy aldermanand my ladyyourexcellentmothersir?"  He looked round at the waiter ashe said"My lady" as much as to say"Hark yeJohnIhavefriends stilland persons of rank and reputationtoo." "Are you come to do anything in my waysir?  Myyoungfriends Dale and Spiggot do all my business for menowuntilmy new offices are ready; for I'm only heretemporarilyyou knowCaptain.  What can we do for you.sir? Will you like to take anything?"

Dobbinwith a great deal of hesitation and stutteringprotestedthat he was not in the least hungry or thirsty;that hehad no business to transact; that he only cameto ask ifMr. Sedley was welland to shake hands withan oldfriend; andhe addedwith a desperate perversionof truth"My mother is very well--that isshe's been veryunwelland is only waiting for the first fine day to go outand callupon Mrs. Sedley.  How is Mrs. Sedleysir?  Ihope she'squite well."  And here he pausedreflecting onhis ownconsummate hypocrisy; for the day was as fineand thesunshine as bright as it ever is in Coffin Courtwhere theTapioca Coffee-house is situated: and Mr.Dobbinremembered that he had seen Mrs. Sedley himselfonly anhour beforehaving driven Osborne down to Fulhamin hisgigand left him there tete-a-tete with Miss Amelia.

"Mywife will be very happy to see her ladyship"Sedleyrepliedpulling out his papers.  "I've a very kindletterhere from your fathersirand beg my respectfulcomplimentsto him.  Lady D. will find us in rather asmallerhouse than we were accustomed to receive ourfriendsin; but it's snugand the change of air does goodto mydaughterwho was suffering in town rather--yourememberlittle Emmysir?--yessuffering a good deal."The oldgentleman's eyes were wandering as he spokeandhe wasthinking of something elseas he sate thrummingon hispapers and fumbling at the worn red tape.

"You'rea military man" he went on; "I ask youBillDobbincould any man ever have speculated upon thereturn ofthat Corsican scoundrel from Elba?  When thealliedsovereigns were here last yearand we gave 'emthatdinner in the Citysirand we saw the Temple ofConcordand the fireworksand the Chinese bridge inSt.James's Parkcould any sensible man suppose thatpeacewasn't really concludedafter we'd actually sung TeDeum foritsir?  I ask youWilliamcould I suppose thattheEmperor of Austria was a damned traitor--a traitorandnothing more?  I don't mince words--a double-facedinfernaltraitor and schemerwho meant to have his son-in-lawback all along.  And I say that the escape of Boneyfrom Elbawas a damned imposition and plotsirinwhich halfthe powers of Europe were concernedtobring thefunds downand to ruin this country.  That'swhy I'mhereWilliam.  That's why my name's in theGazette. Whysir?--because I trusted the Emperor ofRussia andthe Prince Regent.  Look here.  Look at mypapers. Look what the funds were on the 1st of March--what theFrench fives were when I bought for thecount. And what they're at now.  There was collusionsiror thatvillain never would have escaped.  Where was theEnglishCommissioner who allowed him to get away?  Heought tobe shotsir--brought to a court-martialandshotbyJove."

"We'regoing to hunt Boney outsir" Dobbin saidratheralarmed at the fury of the old manthe veins ofwhoseforehead began to swelland who sate drumminghis paperswith his clenched fist.  "We are going to hunthim outsir--the Duke's in Belgium alreadyand weexpectmarching orders every day."

"Givehim no quarter.  Bring back the villain's headsir.Shoot thecoward downsir" Sedley roared.  "I'd enlistmyselfby--; but I'm a broken old man--ruined bythatdamned scoundrel--and by a parcel of swindlingthieves inthis country whom I madesirand who arerolling intheir carriages now" he addedwith a break inhis voice.

Dobbin wasnot a little affected by the sight of this oncekind oldfriendcrazed almost with misfortune and ravingwithsenile anger.  Pity the fallen gentleman: you to whommoney andfair repute are the chiefest good; and sosurelyare they in Vanity Fair.

"Yes"he continued"there are some vipers that youwarmandthey sting you afterwards.  There are somebeggarsthat you put on horsebackand they're the firstto rideyou down.  You know whom I meanWilliamDobbinmyboy.  I mean a purse-proud villain in RussellSquarewhom I knew without a shillingand whom Ipray andhope to see a beggar as he was when Ibefriendedhim."

"Ihave heard something of thissirfrom my friendGeorge"Dobbin saidanxious to come to his point.  "Thequarrelbetween you and his father has cut him up a greatdealsir.  IndeedI'm the bearer of a message from him."

"OTHAT'S your errandis it?" cried the old manjumpingup.  "What! perhaps he condoles with medoes he?Very kindof himthe stiff-backed prigwith his dandifiedairs andWest End swagger.  He's hankering about myhouseishe still?  If my son had the courage of a manhe'd shoothim.  He's as big a villain as his father.  I won'thave hisname mentioned in my house.  I curse the daythat everI let him into it; and I'd rather see my daughterdead at myfeet than married to him."

"Hisfather's harshness is not George's faultsir.  Yourdaughter'slove for him is as much your doing as his.  Whoare youthat you are to play with two young people'saffectionsand break their hearts at your will?"

"Recollectit's not his father that breaks the match off"old Sedleycried out.  "It's I that forbid it.  That family andmine areseparated for ever.  I'm fallen lowbut not solow asthat: nono.  And so you may tell the whole race--sonandfather and sistersand all."

"It'smy beliefsirthat you have not the power or theright toseparate those two" Dobbin answered in a lowvoice;"and that if you don't give your daughter yourconsent itwill be her duty to marry without it.  There's noreason sheshould die or live miserably because youarewrong-headed.  To my thinkingshe's just as muchmarried asif the banns had been read in all the churches inLondon. And what better answer can there be to Osborne'schargesagainst youas charges there arethanthat hisson claims to enter your family and marry yourdaughter?"

A light ofsomething like satisfaction seemed to breakover oldSedley as this point was put to him: but he stillpersistedthat with his consent the marriage betweenAmelia andGeorge should never take place.

"Wemust do it without" Dobbin saidsmilingand toldMr.Sedleyas he had told Mrs. Sedley in the daybeforethe storyof Rebecca's elopement with Captain Crawley.  Itevidentlyamused the old gentleman.  "You're terriblefellowsyou Captains" said hetying up his papers; and hisface woresomething like a smile upon itto the astonishmentof theblear-eyed waiter who now enteredand hadnever seensuch an expression upon Sedley's countenancesince hehad used the dismal coffee-house.

The ideaof hitting his enemy Osborne such a blowsoothedperhapsthe old gentleman: andtheir colloquypresentlyendinghe and Dobbin parted pretty good friends.

"Mysisters say she has diamonds as big as pigeons'eggs"George saidlaughing.  "How they must set off hercomplexion! A perfect illumination it must be when herjewels areon her neck.  Her jet-black hair is as curly asSambo's. I dare say she wore a nose ring when she wentto court;and with a plume of feathers in her top-knotshe wouldlook a perfect Belle Sauvage."

Georgeinconversation with Ameliawas rallying theappearanceof a young lady of whom his father and sistershad latelymade the acquaintanceand who was an objectof vastrespect to the Russell Square family.  She was reportedto have Idon't know how many plantations in theWestIndies; a deal of money in the funds; and threestars toher name in the East India stockholders' list.  Shehad amansion in Surreyand a house in Portland Place.The nameof the rich West India heiress had been mentionedwithapplause in the Morning Post.  Mrs. HaggistounColonelHaggistoun's widowher relative"chaperoned"herandkept her house.  She was just from schoolwhereshe hadcompleted her educationand George and hissistershad met her at an evening party at old Hulker'shouseDevonshire Place (HulkerBullockand Co. werelong thecorrespondents of her house in the West Indies)and thegirls had made the most cordial advances to herwhich theheiress had received with great good humour.An orphanin her position--with her money--so interesting!the MissesOsborne said.  They were full of their newfriendwhen they returned from the Hulker ball to MissWirttheir companion; they had made arrangements forcontinuallymeetingand had the carriage and drove to seeher thevery next day.  Mrs. HaggistounColonel Haggistoun'swidowarelation of Lord Binkieand always talkingof himstruck the dear unsophisticated girls as ratherhaughtyand too much inclined to talk about her greatrelations:but Rhoda was everything they could wish--thefrankestkindestmost agreeable creature--wanting alittlepolishbut so good-natured.  The girls Christian-named eachother at once.

"Youshould have seen her dress for courtEmmy"Osbornecriedlaughing.  "She came to my sisters to showit offbefore she was presented in state by my LadyBinkiethe Haggistoun's kinswoman.  She's related to everyonethatHaggistoun.  Her diamonds blazed out likeVauxhallon the night we were there.  (Do you rememberVauxhallEmmyand Jos singing to his dearest diddlediddledarling?)  Diamonds and mahoganymy dear!think whatan advantageous contrast--and the whitefeathersin her hair--I mean in her wool.  She hadearringslike chandeliers; you might have lighted 'emupbyJove--and a yellow satin train that streeled afterher likethe tail of a cornet."

"Howold is she?" asked Emmyto whom George wasrattlingaway regarding this dark paragonon the morningof theirreunion--rattling away as no other man in theworldsurely could.

"Whythe Black Princessthough she has only just leftschoolmust be two or three and twenty.  And you shouldsee thehand she writes!  Mrs. Colonel Haggistoun usuallywrites herlettersbut in a moment of confidenceshe putpen topaper for my sisters; she spelt satin sattingandSaintJames'sSaint Jams."

"Whysurely it must be Miss Swartzthe parlourboarder"Emmy saidremembering that good-naturedyoungmulatto girlwho had been so hysterically affectedwhenAmelia left Miss Pinkerton's academy

"Thevery name" George said.  "Her father was a GermanJew--aslave-owner they say--connected with theCannibalIslands in some way or other.  He died last yearand MissPinkerton has finished her education.  She canplay twopieces on the piano; she knows three songs;she canwrite when Mrs. Haggistoun is by to spell for her;and Janeand Maria already have got to love her as asister."

"Iwish they would have loved me" said Emmywistfully."Theywere always very cold to me."

"Mydear childthey would have loved you if you hadhad twohundred thousand pounds" George replied.  "Thatis the wayin which they have been brought up.  Ours isaready-money society.  We live among bankers and Citybig-wigsand be hanged to themand every manas hetalks toyouis jingling his guineas in his pocket.  There isthatjackass Fred Bullock is going to marry Maria--there'sGoldmorethe East India Directorthere's Dipleyin thetallow trade--OUR trade" George saidwith anuneasylaugh and a blush.  "Curse the whole pack of money-grubbingvulgarians!  I fall asleep at their great heavydinners. I feel ashamed in my father's great stupidparties. I've been accustomed to live with gentlemenandmen of theworld and fashionEmmynot with a parcelofturtle-fed tradesmen.  Dear little womanyou are the onlyperson ofour set who ever lookedor thoughtor spokelike alady: and you do it because you're an angel andcan't helpit.  Don't remonstrate.  You are the only lady.Didn'tMiss Crawley remark itwho has lived in thebestcompany in Europe?  And as for Crawleyof the LifeGuardshang ithe's a fine fellow: and I like him formarryingthe girl he had chosen."

Ameliaadmired Mr. Crawley very muchtoofor this;andtrusted Rebecca would be happy with himand hoped(with alaugh) Jos would be consoled.  And so the pairwent onprattlingas in quite early days.  Amelia'sconfidencebeing perfectly restored to herthough sheexpresseda great deal of pretty jealousy about Miss Swartzandprofessed to be dreadfully frightened--like a hypocriteas shewas--lest George should forget her for theheiressand her money and her estates in Saint Kitt's.  Butthe factisshe was a great deal too happy to have fearsor doubtsor misgivings of any sort: and having Georgeat herside againwas not afraid of any heiress or beautyor indeedof any sort of danger.

WhenCaptain Dobbin came back in the afternoon tothesepeople--which he did with a great deal of sympathyforthem--it did his heart good to see how Amelia hadgrownyoung again--how she laughedand chirpedandsangfamiliar old songs at the pianowhich were onlyinterruptedby the bell from without proclaiming Mr.Sedley'sreturn from the Citybefore whom George received asignal toretreat.

Beyond thefirst smile of recognition--and even that wasanhypocrisyfor she thought his arrival rather provoking--MissSedley did not once notice Dobbin during hisvisit. But he was contentso that he saw her happy; andthankfulto have been the means of making her so.

CHAPTERXXIAQuarrel About an Heiress

Love maybe felt for any young lady endowed with suchqualitiesas Miss Swartz possessed; and a great dream ofambitionentered into old Mr. Osborne's soulwhich shewas torealize.  He encouragedwith the utmost enthusiasmandfriendlinesshis daughters' amiable attachment to theyoungheiressand protested that it gave him the sincerestpleasureas a father to see the love of his girls so well disposed.

"Youwon't find" he would say to Miss Rhoda"thatsplendourand rank to which you are accustomed at theWest Endmy dear Missat our humble mansion in RussellSquare. My daughters are plaindisinterested girlsbuttheirhearts are in the right placeand they've conceivedanattachment for you which does them honour--I saywhich doesthem honour.  I'm a plainsimplehumbleBritishmerchant--an honest oneas my respected friendsHulker andBullock will vouchwho were the correspondentsof yourlate lamented father.  You'll find us aunitedsimplehappyand I think I may say respectedfamily--aplain tablea plain peoplebut a warm welcomemy dearMiss Rhoda--Rhodalet me sayfor myheartwarms to youit does really.  I'm a frank manandI likeyou.  A glass of Champagne!  HicksChampagne toMissSwartz."

There islittle doubt that old Osborne believed all hesaidandthat the girls were quite earnest in theirprotestationsof affection for Miss Swartz.  People in VanityFairfasten on to rich folks quite naturally.  If the simplestpeople aredisposed to look not a little kindly ongreatProsperity (for I defy any member of the Britishpublic tosay that the notion of Wealth has not somethingawful andpleasing to him; and youif you are told thatthe mannext you at dinner has got half a millionnot tolook athim with a certain interest)--if the simple lookbenevolentlyon moneyhow much more do your oldworldlingsregard it!  Their affections rush out to meet andwelcomemoney.  Their kind sentiments awaken spontaneouslytowardsthe interesting possessors of it.  I knowsomerespectable people who don't consider themselvesat libertyto indulge in friendship for any individual whohas not acertain competencyor place in society.  Theygive aloose to their feelings on proper occasions.  Andthe proofisthat the major part of the Osborne familywho hadnotin fifteen yearsbeen able to get up aheartyregard for Amelia Sedleybecame as fond of MissSwartz inthe course of a single evening as the mostromanticadvocate of friendship at first sight could desire.

What amatch for George she'd be (the sisters andMiss Wirtagreed)and how much better than thatinsignificantlittle Amelia!  Such a dashing young fellow ashe iswith his good looksrankand accomplishmentswould bethe very husband for her.  Visions of balls inPortlandPlacepresentations at Courtand introductionsto halfthe peeragefilled the minds of the young ladies;who talkedof nothing but George and his grandacquaintancesto their beloved new friend.

OldOsborne thought she would be a great matchtoofor hisson.  He should leave the army; he should go intoParliament;he should cut a figure in the fashion and inthestate.  His blood boiled with honest British exultationas he sawthe name of Osborne ennobled in the personof hissonand thought that he might be the progenitor ofa gloriousline of baronets.  He worked in the City and on'Changeuntil he knew everything relating to the fortuneof theheiresshow her money was placedand where herestateslay.  Young Fred Bullockone of his chief informantswould haveliked to make a bid for her himself(it was sothe young banker expressed it)only he wasbooked toMaria Osborne.  But not being able to secureher as awifethe disinterested Fred quite approved of heras asister-in-law.  "Let George cut in directly and winher"was his advice.  "Strike while the iron's hotyouknow--whileshe's fresh to the town: in a few weekssome d--fellow from the West End will come in with atitle anda rotten rent-roll and cut all us City men outasLordFitzrufus did last year with Miss Grogramwho wasactuallyengaged to Podderof Podder & Brown's.  Thesooner itis done the betterMr. Osborne; them's mysentiments"the wag said; thoughwhen Osborne had leftthe bankparlourMr. Bullock remembered Ameliaandwhat apretty girl she wasand how attached to GeorgeOsborne;and he gave up at least ten seconds of hisvaluabletime to regretting the misfortune which hadbefallenthat unlucky young woman.

While thusGeorge Osborne's good feelingsand hisgoodfriend and geniusDobbinwere carrying back thetruant toAmelia's feetGeorge's parent and sisters werearrangingthis splendid match for himwhich they neverdreamed hewould resist.

When theelder Osborne gave what he called "a hint"there wasno possibility for the most obtuse to mistakehismeaning.  He called kicking a footman downstairs ahint tothe latter to leave his service.  With his usualfranknessand delicacy he told Mrs. Haggistoun that hewould giveher a cheque for five thousand pounds on theday hisson was married to her ward; and called thatproposal ahintand considered it a very dexterous pieceofdiplomacy.  He gave George finally such another hintregardingthe heiress; and ordered him to marry her outof handas he would have ordered his butler to draw acorkorhis clerk to write a letter.

Thisimperative hint disturbed George a good deal.  Hewas in thevery first enthusiasm and delight of his secondcourtshipof Ameliawhich was inexpressibly sweetto him. The contrast of her manners and appearance withthose ofthe heiressmade the idea of a union with thelatterappear doubly ludicrous and odious.  Carriages andopera-boxesthought he; fancy being seen in them by theside ofsuch a mahogany charmer as that!  Add to allthat thejunior Osborne was quite as obstinate as thesenior:when he wanted a thingquite as firm in hisresolutionto get it; and quite as violent when angeredas hisfather in his most stern moments.

On thefirst day when his father formally gave him thehint thathe was to place his affections at Miss Swartz'sfeetGeorge temporised with the old gentleman.  "Youshouldhave thought of the matter soonersir" he said."Itcan't be done nowwhen we're expecting every dayto go onforeign service.  Wait till my returnif I doreturn";and then he representedthat the time when theregimentwas daily expecting to quit Englandwasexceedinglyill-chosen: that the few days or weeks duringwhich theywere still to remain at homemust bedevoted tobusiness and not to love-making: time enoughfor thatwhen he came home with his majority; "forIpromiseyou" said hewith a satisfied air"that oneway orother you shall read the name of George Osbornein theGazette."

Thefather's reply to this was founded upon theinformationwhich he had got in the City: that the WestEnd chapswould infallibly catch hold of the heiress ifany delaytook place: that if he didn't marry Miss S.hemight atleast have an engagement in writingto comeintoeffect when he returned to England; and that a manwho couldget ten thousand a year by staying at homewas a foolto risk his life abroad.

"Sothat you would have me shown up as a cowardsirand ourname dishonoured for the sake of Miss Swartz'smoney"George interposed.

Thisremark staggered the old gentleman; but as hehad toreply to itand as his mind was neverthelessmade uphe said"You will dine here to-morrowsirand everyday Miss Swartz comesyou will be here topay yourrespects to her.  If you want for moneycallupon Mr.Chopper." Thus a new obstacle was in George'swaytointerfere with his plans regarding Amelia; andaboutwhich he and Dobbin had more than one confidentialconsultation. His friend's opinion respecting theline ofconduct which he ought to pursuewe knowalready. And as for Osbornewhen he was once bent on athingafresh obstacle or two only rendered him themoreresolute.

The darkobject of the conspiracy into which the chiefsof theOsborne family had enteredwas quite ignorant ofall theirplans regarding her (whichstrange to sayherfriend andchaperon did not divulge)andtaking all theyoungladies' flattery for genuine sentimentand beingas we havebefore had occasion to showof a verywarm andimpetuous natureresponded to their affectionwith quitea tropical ardour.  And if the truth may be toldI dare saythat she too had some selfish attraction in theRussellSquare house; and in a wordthought GeorgeOsborne avery nice young man.  His whiskers had madeanimpression upon heron the very first night shebeheldthem at the ball at Messrs. Hulkers; andas weknowshewas not the first woman who had beencharmed bythem.  George had an air at once swaggeringandmelancholylanguid and fierce.  He looked like aman whohad passionssecretsand private harrowinggriefs andadventures.  His voice was rich and deep.  Hewould sayit was a warm eveningor ask his partner totake anicewith a tone as sad and confidential as if hewerebreaking her mother's death to heror preluding adeclarationof love.  He trampled over all the young bucksof hisfather's circleand was the hero among thosethird-ratemen.  Some few sneered at him and hated him.SomelikeDobbinfanatically admired him.  And his whiskershad begunto do their workand to curl themselvesround theaffections of Miss Swartz.

Wheneverthere was a chance of meeting him in RussellSquarethat simple and good-natured young womanwas quitein a flurry to see her dear Misses Osborne.  Shewent togreat expenses in new gownsand braceletsandbonnetsand in prodigious feathers.  She adorned herpersonwith her utmost skill to please the Conquerorandexhibited all her simple accomplishments to win hisfavour. The girls would ask herwith the greatestgravityfor a little musicand she would sing her threesongs andplay her two little pieces as often as evertheyaskedand with an always increasing pleasure toherself. During these delectable entertainmentsMissWirt andthe chaperon sate byand conned over thepeerageand talked about the nobility.

The dayafter George had his hint from his fatheranda shorttime before the hour of dinnerhe was lollingupon asofa in the drawing-room in a very becomingandperfectly natural attitude of melancholy.  He hadbeenathis father's requestto Mr. Chopper in the City(theold-gentlemanthough he gave great sums to hissonwouldnever specify any fixed allowance for himandrewarded him only as he was in the humour).  Hehad thenbeen to pass three hours with Ameliahisdearlittle Ameliaat Fulham; and he came home tofind hissisters spread in starched muslin in the drawing-roomthedowagers cackling in the backgroundandhonestSwartz in her favourite amber-coloured satinwithturquoisebraceletscountless ringsflowersfeathersandall sortsof tags and gimcracksabout as elegantlydecoratedas a she chimney-sweep on May-day.

The girlsafter vain attempts to engage him in conversationtalkedabout fashions and the last drawing-roomuntil hewas perfectly sick of their chatter.  Hecontrastedtheir behaviour with little Emmy's--theirshrillvoices with her tender ringing tones; their attitudesand theirelbows and their starchwith her humble softmovementsand modest graces.  Poor Swartz was seatedin a placewhere Emmy had been accustomed to sit.Herbejewelled hands lay sprawling in her amber satinlap. Her tags and ear-rings twinkledand her big eyesrolledabout.  She was doing nothing with perfect contentmentandthinking herself charming.  Anything so becomingas thesatin the sisters had never seen.

"Dammy"George said to a confidential friend"shelookedlike a China dollwhich has nothing to do all daybut togrin and wag its head.  By JoveWillit was all II could doto prevent myself from throwing the sofa-cushion ather." He restrained that exhibition ofsentimenthowever.

Thesisters began to play the Battle of Prague.  "Stopthat d--thing" George howled out in a fury from thesofa. "It makes me mad.  You play us somethingMissSwartzdo.  Sing somethinganything but the Battle ofPrague."

"ShallI sing 'Blue Eyed Mary' or the air from theCabinet?"Miss Swartz asked.

"Thatsweet thing from the Cabinet" the sisters said.

"We'vehad that" replied the misanthrope on the sofa

"Ican sing 'Fluvy du Tajy' " Swartz saidin a meekvoice"ifI had the words." It was the last of the worthyyoungwoman's collection.

"O'Fleuve du Tage' " Miss Maria cried; "we have thesong"and went off to fetch the book in which it was.

Now ithappened that this songthen in the height ofthefashionhad been given to the young ladies by a youngfriend oftheirswhose name was on the titleand MissSwartzhaving concluded the ditty with George's applause(for heremembered that it was a favourite of Amelia's)was hopingfor an encore perhapsand fiddling with theleaves ofthe musicwhen her eye fell upon the titleandshe saw"Amelia Sedley" written in the comer.

"Lor!"cried Miss Swartzspinning swiftly round onthemusic-stool"is it my Amelia?  Amelia that was atMiss P.'sat Hammersmith?  I know it is.  It's her.  and--Tell meabout her--where is she?"

"Don'tmention her" Miss Maria Osborne saidhastily. "Her family has disgraced itself.  Her fathercheatedPapaand as for hershe is never to be mentionedHERE."This was Miss Maria's return for George'srudenessabout the Battle of Prague.

"Areyou a friend of Amelia's?" George saidbouncingup. "God bless you for itMiss Swartz.  Don't believewhatthegirls say.  SHE'S not to blame at any rate.She's thebest--"

"Youknow you're not to speak about herGeorge"criedJane.  "Papa forbids it."

"Who'sto prevent me?" George cried out.  "I will speakof her. I say she's the bestthe kindestthe gentlestthesweetestgirl in England; and thatbankrupt or nomysistersare not fit to hold candles to her.  If you like hergo and seeherMiss Swartz; she wants friends now; andI sayGodbless everybody who befriends her.  Anybodywho speakskindly of her is my friend; anybody whospeaksagainst her is my enemy.  Thank youMiss Swartz";and hewent up and wrung her hand.

"George!George!" one of the sisters cried imploringly.

"Isay" George said fiercely"I thank everybody wholovesAmelia Sed--" He stopped.  Old Osborne was inthe roomwith a face livid with rageand eyes like hotcoals.

ThoughGeorge had stopped in his sentenceyethisbloodbeing uphe was not to be cowed by all thegenerationsof Osborne; rallying instantlyhe replied tothebullying look of his fatherwith another so indicativeofresolution and defiance that the elder man quailed inhis turnand looked away.  He felt that the tussle wascoming. "Mrs. Haggistounlet me take you down to dinner"he said. "Give your arm to Miss SwartzGeorge"and theymarched.

"MissSwartzI love Ameliaand we've been engagedalmost allour lives" Osborne said to his partner; andduring allthe dinnerGeorge rattled on with a volubilitywhichsurprised himselfand made his father doublynervousfor the fight which was to take place as soon asthe ladieswere gone.

Thedifference between the pair wasthat while thefather wasviolent and a bullythe son had thrice thenerve andcourage of the parentand could not merelymake anattackbut resist it; and finding that the momentwas nowcome when the contest between him andhis fatherwas to be decidedhe took his dinner withperfectcoolness and appetite before the engagementbegan. Old Osborneon the contrarywas nervousanddrankmuch.  He floundered in his conversation with theladieshis neighbours: George's coolness only renderinghim moreangry.  It made him half mad to see the calmway inwhich Georgeflapping his napkinand with aswaggeringbowopened the door for the ladies to leavethe room;and filling himself a glass of winesmacked itand lookedhis father full in the faceas if to say"Gentlemenof the Guardfire first." The old man also took asupply ofammunitionbut his decanter clinked againstthe glassas he tried to fill it.

Aftergiving a great heaveand with a purple chokingfacehethen began.  "How dare yousirmention thatperson'sname before Miss Swartz to-dayin my drawing-room? Iask yousirhow dare you do it?"

"Stopsir" says George"don't say daresir.  Dareisn't aword to be used to a Captain in the British Army."

"Ishall say what I like to my sonsir.  I can cut him offwith ashilling if I like.  I can make him a beggar if I like.I WILL saywhat I like" the elder said.

"I'ma gentleman though I AM your sonsir" Georgeansweredhaughtily.  "Any communications which youhave tomake to meor any orders which you mayplease togiveI beg may be couched in that kind oflanguagewhich I am accustomed to hear."

Wheneverthe lad assumed his haughty manneritalwayscreated either great awe or great irritation in theparent. Old Osborne stood in secret terror of his son as abettergentleman than himself; and perhaps my readersmay haveremarked in their experience of this Vanity Fairof oursthat there is no character which a low-mindedman somuch mistrusts as that of a gentleman.

"Myfather didn't give me the education you have hadnor theadvantages you have hadnor the money youhave had. If I had kept the company SOME FOLKS havehadthrough MY MEANSperhaps my son wouldn't haveany reasonto bragsirof his SUPERIORITY and WEST ENDAIRS(these words were uttered in the elder Osborne'smostsarcastic tones).  But it wasn't considered the partof agentlemanin MY timefor a man to insult his father.If I'ddone any such thingmine would have kicked medownstairssir."

"Inever insulted yousir.  I said I begged you torememberyour son was a gentleman as well as yourself.I knowvery well that you give me plenty of money"saidGeorge (fingering a bundle of notes which he hadgot in themorning from Mr. Chopper).  "You tell it meoftenenoughsir.  There's no fear of my forgetting it."

"Iwish you'd remember other things as wellsir" thesireanswered.  "I wish you'd remember that in this house--so longas you choose to HONOUR it with your COMPANYCaptain--I'mthe masterand that nameand thatthat--thatyou--that I say--"

"Thatwhatsir?" George askedwith scarcely a sneerfillinganother glass of claret.

"--!"burst out his father with a screaming oath--"thatthe name of those Sedleys never be mentionedheresir--not one of the whole damned lot of 'emsir."

"Itwasn't Isirthat introduced Miss Sedley's name.  Itwas mysisters who spoke ill of her to Miss Swartz; andby JoveI'll defend her wherever I go.  Nobody shallspeaklightly of that name in my presence.  Our familyhas doneher quite enough injury alreadyI thinkandmay leaveoff reviling her now she's down.  I'll shoot anyman butyou who says a word against her."

"Goonsirgo on" the old gentleman saidhis eyesstartingout of his head.

"Goon about whatsir? about the way in which we'vetreatedthat angel of a girl?  Who told me to love her?  Itwas yourdoing.  I might have chosen elsewhereandlookedhigherperhapsthan your society: but I obeyedyou. And now that her heart's mine you give me ordersto flingit awayand punish herkill her perhaps--forthe faultsof other people.  It's a shameby Heavens"saidGeorgeworking himself up into passion andenthusiasmas he proceeded"to play at fast and loose witha younggirl's affections--and with such an angel as that--one sosuperior to the people amongst whom she livedthat shemight have excited envyonly she was so goodandgentlethat it's a wonder anybody dared to hate her.If Idesert hersirdo you suppose she forgets me?"

"Iain't going to have any of this dam sentimental nonsenseand humbugheresir" the father cried out.  "Thereshall beno beggar-marriages in my family.  If you chooseto flingaway eight thousand a yearwhich you may havefor theaskingyou may do it: but by Jove you take yourpack andwalk out of this housesir.  Will you do as I tellyouoncefor allsiror will you not?"

"Marrythat mulatto woman?" George saidpulling uphisshirt-collars.  "I don't like the coloursir.  Asktheblack thatsweeps opposite Fleet Marketsir.  I'm notgoing tomarry a Hottentot Venus."

Mr.Osborne pulled frantically at the cord by which hewasaccustomed to summon the butler when he wantedwine--andalmost black in the faceordered that functionaryto call acoach for Captain Osborne.

"I'vedone it" said Georgecoming into the Slaughters'an hourafterwardslooking very pale.

"Whatmy boy?" says Dobbin.

Georgetold what had passed between his father andhimself.

"I'llmarry her to-morrow" he said with an oath.  "Ilove hermore every dayDobbin."

CHAPTERXXIIAMarriage and Part of a Honeymoon

Enemiesthe most obstinate and courageous can't holdoutagainst starvation; so the elder Osborne felt himselfprettyeasy about his adversary in the encounter we havejustdescribed; and as soon as George's supplies fellshortconfidently expected his unconditional submission.It wasunluckyto be surethat the lad should have secureda stock ofprovisions on the very day when the firstencountertook place; but this relief was only temporaryoldOsborne thoughtand would but delay George'ssurrender. No communication passed between father andson forsome days.  The former was sulky at this silencebut notdisquieted; foras he saidhe knew where hecould putthe screw upon Georgeand only waited theresult ofthat operation.  He told the sisters the upshot ofthedispute between thembut ordered them to take nonotice ofthe matterand welcome George on his returnas ifnothing had happened.  His cover was laid as usualevery dayand perhaps the old gentleman rather anxiouslyexpectedhim; but he never came.  Some one inquiredat theSlaughters' regarding himwhere it was saidthat heand his friend Captain Dobbin had left town.

One gustyraw day at the end of April--the rain whippingthepavement of that ancient street where the oldSlaughters'Coffee-house was once situated--George Osbornecame intothe coffee-roomlooking very haggardand pale;although dressed rather smartly in a blue coatand brassbuttonsand a neat buff waistcoat of the fashionof thosedays.  Here was his friend Captain Dobbinin blueand brass toohaving abandoned the militaryfrock andFrench-grey trouserswhich were the usualcoveringsof his lanky person.

Dobbin hadbeen in the coffee-room for an hour ormore. He had tried all the papersbut could not readthem. He had looked at the clock many scores of times;and at thestreetwhere the rain was pattering downand thepeople as they clinked by in pattensleft longreflectionson the shining stone: he tattooed at the table:he bit hisnails most completelyand nearly to the quick(he wasaccustomed to ornament his great big hands inthis way):he balanced the tea-spoon dexterously on themilk jug:upset it&c.&c.; and in fact showed thosesigns ofdisquietudeand practised those desperateattemptsat amusementwhich men are accustomed toemploywhen very anxiousand expectantand perturbedin mind.

Some ofhis comradesgentlemen who used the roomjoked himabout the splendour of his costume and hisagitationof manner.  One asked him if he was going to bemarried? Dobbin laughedand said he would send hisacquaintance(Major Wagstaff of the Engineers) a piece ofcake whenthat event took place.  At length Captain Osbornemade hisappearancevery smartly dressedbutvery paleand agitated as we have said.  He wiped hispale facewith a large yellow bandanna pocket-handkerchiefthat wasprodigiously scented.  He shook hands withDobbinlooked at the clockand told Johnthe waiterto bringhim some curacao.  Of this cordial he swallowedoff acouple of glasses with nervous eagerness.His friendasked with some interest about his health.

"Couldn'tget a wink of sleep till daylightDob" saidhe. "Infernal headache and fever.  Got up at nineandwent downto the Hummums for a bath.  I sayDobI feeljust as Idid on the morning I went out with Rocket atQuebec."

"Sodo I" William responded.  "I was a deuced dealmorenervous than you were that morning.  You made afamousbreakfastI remember.  Eat something now."

"You'rea good old fellowWill.  I'll drink your healthold boyand farewell to--"

"Nono; two glasses are enough" Dobbin interruptedhim. "Heretake away the liqueursJohn.  Have somecayenne-pepperwith your fowl.  Make haste thoughfor itis time wewere there."

It wasabout half an hour from twelve when thisbriefmeeting and colloquy took place between the twocaptains. A coachinto which Captain Osborne's servantput hismaster's desk and dressing-casehad been inwaitingfor some time; and into this the two gentlemenhurriedunder an umbrellaand the valet mounted on theboxcursing the rain and the dampness of the coachmanwho wassteaming beside him.  "We shall find a bettertrap thanthis at the church-door" says he; "that's acomfort."And the carriage drove ontaking the roaddownPiccadillywhere Apsley House and St. George'sHospitalwore red jackets still; where there were oil-lamps;where Achilles was not yet born; nor the Pimlicoarchraised; nor the hideous equestrian monster whichpervadesit and the neighbourhood; and so they drovedown byBrompton to a certain chapel near the FulhamRoadthere.

A chariotwas in waiting with four horses; likewise acoach ofthe kind called glass coaches.  Only a very fewidlerswere collected on account of the dismal rain.

"Hangit!" said George"I said only a pair."

"Mymaster would have four" said Mr. Joseph Sedley'sservantwho was in waiting; and he and Mr. Osborne'sman agreedas they followed George and William intothechurchthat it was a "reg'lar shabby turnhout; andwith scarce so much as a breakfast or aweddingfaviour."

"Hereyou are" said our old friendJos Sedleycomingforward. "You're five minutes lateGeorgemy boy.What adayeh? Demmyit's like the commencement ofthe rainyseason in Bengal.  But you'll find my carriageiswatertight.  Come alongmy mother and Emmy are in thevestry."

Jos Sedleywas splendid.  He was fatter than ever.  Hisshirtcollars were higher; his face was redder; his shirt-frillflaunted gorgeously out of his variegated waistcoat.Varnishedboots were not invented as yet; but the Hessianson hisbeautiful legs shone sothat they must have beentheidentical pair in which the gentleman in the old pictureused toshave himself; and on his light green coattherebloomed a fine wedding favourlike a great whitespreadingmagnolia.

In a wordGeorge had thrown the great cast.  He wasgoing tobe married.  Hence his pallor and nervousness--hissleepless night and agitation in the morning.  I haveheardpeople who have gone through the same thingown to thesame emotion.  After three or four ceremoniesyou getaccustomed to itno doubt; but the firstdipeverybody allowsis awful.

The bridewas dressed in a brown silk pelisse (asCaptainDobbin has since informed me)and wore a strawbonnetwith a pink ribbon; over the bonnet she had aveil ofwhite Chantilly lacea gift from Mr. Joseph Sedleyherbrother.  Captain Dobbin himself had asked leaveto presenther with a gold chain and watchwhich shesported onthis occasion; and her mother gave her herdiamondbrooch--almost the only trinket which was leftto the oldlady.  As the service went onMrs. Sedley satandwhimpered a great deal in a pewconsoled by theIrishmaid-servant and Mrs. Clapp from the lodgings.Old Sedleywould not be present.  Jos acted for his fathergivingaway the bridewhilst Captain Dobbin stepped upasgroomsman to his friend George.

There wasnobody in the church besides the officiatingpersonsand the small marriage party and their attendants.The twovalets sat aloof superciliously.  The raincamerattling down on the windows.  In the intervals oftheservice you heard itand the sobbing of old Mrs.Sedley inthe pew.  The parson's tones echoed sadlythroughthe empty walls.  Osborne's "I will" was soundedin verydeep bass.  Emmy's response came fluttering upto herlips from her heartbut was scarcely heard byanybodyexcept Captain Dobbin.

When theservice was completedJos Sedley cameforwardand kissed his sisterthe bridefor the first timefor manymonths--George's look of gloom had goneandhe seemedquite proud and radiant.  "It's your turnWilliam"says heputting his hand fondly upon Dobbin'sshoulder;and Dobbin went up and touched Amelia onthe cheek.

Then theywent into the vestry and signed the register."Godbless youOld Dobbin" George saidgrasping himby thehandwith something very like moisture glisteningin hiseyes.  William replied only by nodding his head.His heartwas too full to say much.

"Writedirectlyand come down as soon as you canyou know"Osborne said.  After Mrs. Sedley had taken anhystericaladieu of her daughterthe pair went off to thecarriage. "Get out of the wayyou little devils" Georgecried to asmall crowd of damp urchinsthat were hangingabout thechapel-door.  The rain drove into the brideandbridegroom's faces as they passed to the chariot.Thepostilions' favours draggled on their dripping jackets.The fewchildren made a dismal cheeras the carriagesplashingmuddrove away.

WilliamDobbin stood in the church-porchlooking at ita queerfigure.  The small crew of spectators jeered him.He was notthinking about them or their laughter.

"Comehome and have some tiffinDobbin" a voicecriedbehind him; as a pudgy hand was laid on his shoulderand thehonest fellow's reverie was interrupted.  ButtheCaptain had no heart to go a-feasting with Jos Sedley.He put theweeping old lady and her attendants into thecarriagealong with Josand left them without any fartherwordspassing.  This carriagetoodrove awayand theurchinsgave another sarcastical cheer.

"Hereyou little beggars" Dobbin saidgiving somesixpencesamongst themand then went off by himselfthroughthe rain.  It was all over.  They were marriedandhappyheprayed God.  Never since he was a boy had hefelt somiserable and so lonely.  He longed with a heart-sickyearning for the first few days to be overthat hemight seeher again.

Some tendays after the above ceremonythree youngmen of ouracquaintance were enjoying that beautifulprospectof bow windows on the one side and blue seaon theotherwhich Brighton affords to the traveller.Sometimesit is towards the ocean--smiling with countlessdimplesspeckled with white sailswith a hundredbathing-machineskissing the skirt of his blue garment--that theLondoner looks enraptured: sometimeson thecontrarya lover of human nature rather than of prospectsof anykindit is towards the bow windows thathe turnsand that swarm of human life which theyexhibit. From one issue the notes of a pianowhich a younglady inringlets practises six hours dailyto the delightof thefellow-lodgers: at anotherlovely Pollythe nurse-maidmaybe seen dandling Master Omnium in her arms:whilstJacobhis papais beheld eating prawnsanddevouringthe Times for breakfastat the window below.Yonder arethe Misses Leerywho are looking out for theyoungofficers of the Heavieswho are pretty sure to bepacing thecliff; or again it is a City manwith a nauticalturnanda telescopethe size of a six-pounderwho hashisinstrument pointed seawardsso as to command everypleasure-boatherring-boator bathing-machine thatcomes toor quitsthe shore&c.&c.  But have we anyleisurefor a description of Brighton?--for BrightonacleanNaples with genteel lazzaroni--for Brightonthatalwayslooks briskgayand gaudylike a harlequin'sjacket--forBrightonwhich used to be seven hoursdistantfrom London at the time of our story; which is nowonly ahundred minutes off; and which may approachwho knowshow much nearerunless Joinville comes anduntimelybombards it?

"Whata monstrous fine girl that is in the lodgingsover themilliner's" one of these three promenadersremarkedto the other; "GadCrawleydid you see what awink shegave me as I passed?"

"Don'tbreak her heartJosyou rascal" said another."Don'ttrifle with her affectionsyou Don Juan!"

"Getaway" said Jos Sedleyquite pleasedand leering upat themaid-servant in question with a most killingogle. Jos was even more splendid at Brighton than he hadbeen athis sister's marriage.  He had brilliant under-waistcoatsany one ofwhich would have set up a moderate buck.He sporteda military frock-coatornamented withfrogsknobsblack buttonsand meandering embroidery.He hadaffected a military appearance and habits of late;and hewalked with his two friendswho were of thatprofessionclinking his boot-spursswaggering prodigiouslyandshooting death-glances at all the servant girlswho wereworthy to be slain.

"Whatshall we doboystill the ladies return?" thebuckasked.  The ladies were out to Rottingdean in hiscarriageon a drive.

"Let'shave a game at billiards" one of his friendssaid--thetall onewith lacquered mustachios.

"Nodammy; noCaptain" Jos repliedratheralarmed. "No billiards to-dayCrawleymy boy;yesterdaywas enough."

"Youplay very well" said Crawleylaughing.  "Don'theOsborne? How well he made that-five strokeeh?"

"Famous"Osborne said.  "Jos is a devil of a fellowatbilliardsand at everything elsetoo.  I wish there wereanytiger-hunting about here! we might go and kill a fewbeforedinner.  (There goes a fine girl! what an ankleehJos?) Tellus that story about the tiger-huntand theway youdid for him in the jungle--it's a wonderful storythatCrawley." Here George Osborne gave a yawn.  "It'sratherslow work" said he"down here; what shall wedo?"

"Shallwe go and look at some horses that Snaffler'sjustbrought from Lewes fair?" Crawley said.

"Supposewe go and have some jellies at Dutton's"and therogue Joswilling to kill two birds with onestone. "Devilish fine gal at Dutton's."

"Supposewe go and see the Lightning come init'sjust abouttime?" George said.  This advice prevailingover thestables and the jellythey turned towards thecoach-officeto witness the Lightning's arrival.

As theypassedthey met the carriage--Jos Sedley'sopencarriagewith its magnificent armorial bearings--thatsplendid conveyance in which he used to driveaboutatCheltonhammajestic and solitarywith his armsfoldedand his hat cocked; ormore happywith ladiesby hisside.

Two werein the carriage now: one a little personwithlighthairand dressed in the height of the fashion; theother in abrown silk pelisseand a straw bonnet withpinkribbonswith a rosyroundhappy facethat didyou goodto behold.  She checked the carriage as itneared thethree gentlemenafter which exercise ofauthorityshe looked rather nervousand then began toblush mostabsurdly.  "We have had a delightful driveGeorge"she said"and--and we're so glad to come back;andJosephdon't let him be late."

"Don'tbe leading our husbands into mischiefMr.Sedleyyou wickedwicked man you" Rebecca saidshaking atJos a pretty little finger covered with theneatestFrench kid glove.  "No billiardsno smokingnonaughtiness!"

"Mydear Mrs. Crawley--Ah now! upon my honour!"was allJos could ejaculate by way of reply; but he managedto fallinto a tolerable attitudewith his head lyingon hisshouldergrinning upwards at his victimwith onehand athis backwhich he supported on his caneandthe otherhand (the one with the diamond ring) fumblingin hisshirt-frill and among his under-waistcoats.  As thecarriagedrove off he kissed the diamond hand to the fairladieswithin.  He wished all Cheltenhamall ChowringheeallCalcuttacould see him in that positionwaving hishand tosuch a beautyand in company with such afamousbuck as Rawdon Crawley of the Guards.

Our youngbride and bridegroom had chosen Brightonas theplace where they would pass the first few days aftertheirmarriage; and having engaged apartments at theShip Innenjoyed themselves there in great comfort andquietudeuntil Jos presently joined them.  Nor was hethe onlycompanion they found there.  As they werecominginto the hotel from a sea-side walk one afternoonon whomshould they light but Rebecca and herhusband. The recognition was immediate.  Rebecca flewinto thearms of her dearest friend.  Crawley and Osborneshookhands together cordially enough: and Beckyinthe courseof a very few hoursfound means to make thelatterforget that little unpleasant passage of words whichhadhappened between them.  "Do you remember the lasttime wemet at Miss Crawley'swhen I was so rude toyoudearCaptain Osborne? I thought you seemed carelessabout dearAmelia.  It was that made me angry: andso pert:and so unkind: and so ungrateful.  Do forgiveme!"Rebecca saidand she held out her hand with sofrank andwinning a gracethat Osborne could not buttake it. By humbly and frankly acknowledging yourself tobe in thewrongthere is no knowingmy sonwhat goodyou maydo.  I knew once a gentleman and very worthypractitionerin Vanity Fairwho used to do little wrongsto hisneighbours on purposeand in order to apologisefor themin an open and manly way afterwards--andwhatensued?  My friend Crocky Doyle was liked everywhereand deemedto be rather impetuous--but the honestestfellow. Becky's humility passed for sincerity withGeorgeOsborne.

These twoyoung couples had plenty of tales to relateto eachother.  The marriages of either were discussed;and theirprospects in life canvassed with the greatestfranknessand interest on both sides.  George's marriagewas to bemade known to his father by his friendCaptainDobbin; and young Osborne trembled rather for theresult ofthat communication.  Miss Crawleyon whomallRawdon's hopes dependedstill held out.  Unable tomake anentry into her house in Park Laneheraffectionatenephew and niece had followed her toBrightonwhere they had emissaries continually plantedat herdoor.

"Iwish you could see some of Rawdon's friends whoare alwaysabout our door" Rebecca saidlaughing.  "Didyou eversee a dunmy dear; or a bailiff and his man?Two of theabominable wretches watched all last weekat thegreengrocer's oppositeand we could not get awayuntilSunday.  If Aunty does not relentwhat shall wedo?"

Rawdonwith roars of laughterrelated a dozen amusinganecdotesof his dunsand Rebecca's adroit treatmentof them. He vowed with a great oath that there wasno womanin Europe who could talk a creditor over asshecould.  Almost immediately after their marriageherpracticehad begunand her husband found the immensevalue ofsuch a wife.  They had credit in plentybut theyhad billsalso in abundanceand laboured under a scarcityof readymoney.  Did these debt-difficulties affect Rawdon'sgoodspirits?  No.  Everybody in Vanity Fair musthaveremarked how well those live who are comfortablyandthoroughly in debt: how they deny themselves nothing;how jollyand easy they are in their minds.  Rawdonand hiswife had the very best apartments at the inn atBrighton;the landlordas he brought in the first dishbowedbefore them as to his greatest customers: andRawdonabused the dinners and wine with an audacitywhich nograndee in the land could surpass.  Long customa manlyappearancefaultless boots and clothesand ahappy fierceness of mannerwill often help a manas much asa great balance at the banker's.

The twowedding parties met constantly in each other'sapartments. After two or three nights the gentlemen of aneveninghad a little piquetas their wives sate and chattedapart. This pastimeand the arrival of Jos Sedleywhomade hisappearance in his grand open carriageand whoplayed afew games at billiards with Captain CrawleyreplenishedRawdon's purse somewhatand gave him thebenefit ofthat ready money for which the greatest spiritsaresometimes at a stand-still.

So thethree gentlemen walked down to see the Lightningcoach comein.  Punctual to the minutethe coachcrowdedinside and outthe guard blowing his accustomedtune onthe horn--the Lightning came tearingdown thestreetand pulled up at the coach-office.

"Hullo!there's old Dobbin" George criedquite delightedto see hisold friend perched on the roof; andwhosepromised visit to Brighton had been delayed untilnow. "How are youold fellow?  Glad you're come down.Emmy'll bedelighted to see you" Osborne saidshakinghiscomrade warmly by the hand as soon as his descentfrom thevehicle was effected--and then he addedin alower andagitated voice"What's the news?  Have youbeen inRussell Square?  What does the governor say?Tell meeverything."

Dobbinlooked very pale and grave.  "I've seen yourfather"said he.  "How's Amelia--Mrs. George?  I'll tellyou allthe news presently: but I've brought the greatnews ofall: and that is--"

"Outwith itold fellow" George said.

"We'reordered to Belgium.  All the army goes--guardsand all. Heavytop's got the goutand is mad at not beingable tomove.  O'Dowd goes in commandand we embarkfromChatham next week." This news of war couldnot butcome with a shock upon our loversand causedall thesegentlemen to look very serious.

CHAPTERXXIIICaptainDobbin Proceeds on His Canvass

What isthe secret mesmerism which friendshippossessesand under the operation of which a personordinarilysluggishor coldor timidbecomes wiseactiveand resolutein another's behalf?  As Alexisafter afew passes from Dr. Elliotsondespises painreads withthe back of his headsees miles offlooks intonext weekand performs other wondersof whichin his own private normal conditionhe isquiteincapable; so you seein the affairs of the worldand underthe magnetism of friendshipsthe modestmanbecomes boldthe shy confidentthe lazy activeortheimpetuous prudent and peaceful.  What is iton theotherhandthat makes the lawyer eschew his own causeand callin his learned brother as an adviser?  And what causesthedoctorwhen ailingto send for his rivaland not sitdown andexamine his own tongue in the chimney Bassor writehis own prescription at his study-table?  I throwout thesequeries for intelligent readers to answerwhoknowatoncehow credulous we areand how scepticalhow softand how obstinatehow firm for others and howdiffidentabout ourselves:  meanwhileit is certain thatour friendWilliam Dobbinwho was personally of socomplyinga disposition that if his parents had pressedhim muchit is probable he would have stepped downinto thekitchen and married the cookand whoto furtherhis owninterestswould have found the most insuperabledifficultyin walking across the streetfound himself asbusy andeager in the conduct of George Osborne'saffairsas the most selfish tactician could be in the pursuitof hisown.

Whilst ourfriend George and his young wife wereenjoyingthe first blushing days of the honeymoon atBrightonhonest William was left as George's plenipotentiaryin Londonto transact all the business part of the marriage.His dutyit was to call upon old Sedley and hiswifeandto keep the former in good humour:  to draw Josand hisbrother-in-law nearer togetherso that Jos's positionanddignityas collector of Boggley Wollahmightcompensatefor his father's loss of stationand tend toreconcileold Osborne to the alliance:  and finallytocommunicateit to the latter in such a way as should leastirritatethe old gentleman.

Nowbefore he faced the head of the Osborne housewith thenews which it was his duty to tellDobbin bethoughthim thatit would be politic to make friends of therest ofthe familyandif possiblehave the ladies on hisside. Theycan't be angry in their heartsthought he.  Nowoman everwas really angry at a romantic marriage.  Alittlecrying outand they must come round to theirbrother;when the three of us will lay siege to old Mr.Osborne. So this Machiavellian captain of infantry castabout himfor some happy means or stratagem by whichhe couldgently and gradually bring the Misses Osborneto aknowledge of their brother's secret.

By alittle inquiry regarding his mother's engagementshe waspretty soon able to find out by whom of her ladyship'sfriendsparties were given at that season; wherehe wouldbe likely to meet Osborne's sisters; andthoughhe hadthat abhorrence of routs and evening partieswhich manysensible menalas! entertainhe soon foundone wherethe Misses Osborne were to be present.Making hisappearance at the ballwhere he danced a coupleof setswith both of themand was prodigiously politeheactuallyhad the courage to ask Miss Osborne for a fewminutes'conversation at an early hour the next daywhenhe hadhesaidto communicate to her news of theverygreatest interest.

What wasit that made her start backand gaze uponhim for amomentand then on the ground at her feetand makeas if she would faint on his armhad he not byopportunelytreading on her toesbrought the young ladyback toself-control?  Why was she so violently agitatedatDobbin's request?  This can never be known.  But whenhe camethe next dayMaria was not in the drawing-roomwith hersisterand Miss Wirt went off for the purposeoffetching the latterand the Captain and Miss Osbornewere lefttogether.  They were both so silent that the ticktockof theSacrifice of Iphigenia clock on the mantelpiecebecamequite rudely audible.

"Whata nice party it was last night" Miss Osborne atlengthbeganencouragingly; "and--and how you'reimprovedin your dancingCaptain Dobbin.  Surely somebodyhas taughtyou" she addedwith amiable archness.

"Youshould see me dance a reel with Mrs. MajorO'Dowd ofours; and a jig--did you ever see a jig?  ButI thinkanybody could dance with youMiss Osbornewho danceso well."

"Isthe Major's lady young and beautifulCaptain?" thefairquestioner continued.  "Ahwhat a terrible thing itmust be tobe a soldier's wife!  I wonder they have anyspirits todanceand in these dreadful times of wartoo!O CaptainDobbinI tremble sometimes when I think ofourdearest Georgeand the dangers of the poor soldier.Are theremany married officers of the --thCaptainDobbin?"

"Uponmy wordshe's playing her hand rather tooopenly"Miss Wirt thought; but this observation is merely parentheticand wasnot heard through the crevice ofthe doorat which the governess uttered it.

"Oneof our young men is just married" Dobbin saidnow comingto the point.  "It was a very old attachmentand theyoung couple are as poor as church mice.""Ohow delightful! Ohow romantic!" Miss Osbornecriedasthe Captain said "old attachment" and "poor."Hersympathy encouraged him.

"Thefinest young fellow in the regiment" he continued."Nota braver or handsomer officer in the army; andsuch acharming wife!  How you would like her!  howyou willlike her when you know herMiss Osborne."  Theyoung ladythought the actual moment had arrivedandthatDobbin's nervousness which now came on and wasvisible inmany twitchings of his facein his manner ofbeatingthe ground with his great feetin the rapidbuttoningand unbuttoning of his frock-coat&c.--MissOsborneIsaythought that when he had given himself alittleairhe would unbosom himself entirelyandpreparedeagerly to listen.  And the clockin the altar onwhichIphigenia was situatedbeginningafter a preparatoryconvulsionto toll twelvethe mere tolling seemedas if itwould last until one--so prolonged was the knellto theanxious spinster.

"Butit's not about marriage that I came to speak--that isthat marriage--that is--noI mean--my dearMissOsborneit's about our dear friend George"Dobbinsaid.

"AboutGeorge?" she said in a tone so discomfitedthat Mariaand Miss Wirt laughed at the other side ofthe doorand even that abandoned wretch of a Dobbinfeltinclined to smile himself; for he was not altogetherunconsciousof the state of affairs:  George having oftenbanteredhim gracefully and said"Hang itWillwhydon't youtake old Jane?  She'll have you if you ask her.I'll betyou five to two she will."

"Yesabout Georgethen" he continued.  "There hasbeen adifference between him and Mr. Osborne.  And Iregard himso much--for you know we have been likebrothers--thatI hope and pray the quarrel may besettled. We must go abroadMiss Osborne.  We may beorderedoff at a day's warning.  Who knows what mayhappen inthe campaign?  Don't be agitateddear MissOsborne;and those two at least should part friends."

"Therehas been no quarrelCaptain Dobbinexcepta littleusual scene with Papa" the lady said.  "We areexpectingGeorge back daily.  What Papa wanted was onlyfor hisgood.  He has but to come backand I'm sure allwill bewell; and dear Rhodawho went away from herein sad sadangerI know will forgive him.  Woman forgivesbut tooreadilyCaptain."

"Suchan angel as YOU I am sure would" Mr. Dobbinsaidwithatrocious astuteness.  "And no man can pardonhimselffor giving a woman pain.  What would you feelif a manwere faithless to you?"

"Ishould perish--I should throw myself out of window--I shouldtake poison--I should pine and die.  Iknow Ishould" Miss criedwho had nevertheless gonethroughone or two affairs of the heart without any ideaofsuicide.

"Andthere are others" Dobbin continued"as trueand askind-hearted as yourself.  I'm not speaking aboutthe WestIndian heiressMiss Osbornebut about a poorgirl whomGeorge once lovedand who was bred fromherchildhood to think of nobody but him.  I've seen herin herpoverty uncomplainingbroken-heartedwithout afault. It is of Miss Sedley I speak.  Dear Miss Osbornecan yourgenerous heart quarrel with your brother forbeingfaithful to her?  Could his own conscience everforgivehim if he deserted her?  Be her friend--she alwayslovedyou--and--and I am come here charged by Georgeto tellyou that he holds his engagement to her as themostsacred duty he has; and to entreat youat leastto be onhis side."

When anystrong emotion took possession of Mr. Dobbinand afterthe first word or two of hesitationhe couldspeak withperfect fluencyand it was evident that hiseloquenceon this occasion made some impression uponthe ladywhom he addressed.

"Well"said she"this is--most surprising--most painful--mostextraordinary--what will Papa say?--thatGeorgeshould fling away such a superb establishment aswasoffered to him
but at any rate he has found a verybravechampion in youCaptain Dobbin.  It is of no usehowever"she continuedafter a pause; "I feel for poorMissSedleymost certainly--most sincerelyyou know.We neverthought the match a good onethough we werealwaysvery kind to her here--very.  But Papa will neverconsentIam sure.  And a well brought up young womanyouknow--with a well-regulated mindmust--Georgemust giveher updear Captain Dobbinindeed he must."

"Oughta man to give up the woman he lovedjustwhenmisfortune befell her?" Dobbin saidholding outhis hand. "Dear Miss Osborneis this the counsel I hearfrom you? My dear young lady! you must befriend her.He can'tgive her up.  He must not give her up.  Would amanthinkyougive YOU up if you were poor?"

Thisadroit question touched the heart of Miss JaneOsbornenot a little.  "I don't know whether we poor girlsought tobelieve what you men sayCaptain" she said."Thereis that in woman's tenderness which induces herto believetoo easily.  I'm afraid you are cruelcrueldeceivers"--andDobbin certainly thought he felt apressureof the hand which Miss Osborne had extendedto him.

He droppedit in some alarm.  "Deceivers!" said he."Nodear Miss Osborneall men are not; your brotheris not;George has loved Amelia Sedley ever since theywerechildren; no wealth would make him marry any buther. Ought he to forsake her?  Would you counsel him todo so?"

What couldMiss Jane say to such a questionand withher ownpeculiar views?  She could not answer itso sheparried itby saying"Wellif you are not a deceiveratleast youare very romantic"; and Captain William letthisobservation pass without challenge.

At lengthwhenby the help of farther polite speecheshe deemedthat Miss Osborne was sufficiently prepared toreceivethe whole newshe poured it into her ear."Georgecould not give up Amelia--George was marriedtoher"--and then he related the circumstances of themarriageas we know them already:  how the poor girlwould havedied had not her lover kept his faith:  howOld Sedleyhad refused all consent to the matchand alicencehad been got: and Jos Sedley had come fromCheltenhamto give away the bride: how they had gonetoBrighton in Jos's chariot-and-four to pass the honeymoon:and howGeorge counted on his dear kind sisters tobefriendhim with their fatheras women--so trueand tenderas they were--assuredly would do.  And soaskingpermission (readily granted) to see her againandrightlyconjecturing that the news he had brought wouldbe told inthe next five minutes to the other ladiesCaptainDobbin made his bow and took his leave.

He wasscarcely out of the housewhen Miss Mariaand MissWirt rushed in to Miss Osborneand thewholewonderful secret was imparted to them by thatlady. To do them justiceneither of the sisters was verymuchdispleased.  There is something about a runawaymatch withwhich few ladies can be seriously angryandAmeliarather rose in their estimationfrom the spiritwhich shehad displayed in consenting to the union.  Astheydebated the storyand prattled about itand wonderedwhat Papawould do and saycame a loud knockas of anavenging thunder-clapat the doorwhich madetheseconspirators start.  It must be Papathey thought.But it wasnot he.  It was only Mr. Frederick Bullockwho hadcome from the City according to appointmentto conductthe ladies to a flower-show.

Thisgentlemanas may be imaginedwas not keptlong inignorance of the secret.  But his facewhen heheard itshowed an amazement which was very differentto thatlook of sentimental wonder which the countenancesof thesisters wore.  Mr. Bullock was a man of the worldand ajunior partner of a wealthy firm.  He knew whatmoney wasand the value of it: and a delightful throbofexpectation lighted up his little eyesand caused himto smileon his Mariaas he thought that by this pieceof follyof Mr. George's she might be worth thirtythousandpounds more than he had ever hoped toget withher.

"Gad! Jane" said hesurveying even the elder sisterwith someinterest"Eels will be sorry he cried off.  Youmay be afifty thousand pounder yet."

Thesisters had never thought of the money questionup to thatmomentbut Fred Bullock bantered themwithgraceful gaiety about it during their forenoon'sexcursion;and they had risen not a little in their ownesteem bythe time whenthe morning amusement overthey droveback to dinner.  And do not let my respectedreaderexclaim against this selfishness as unnatural.  Itwas butthis present morningas he rode on the omnibusfromRichmond; while it changed horsesthis presentchroniclerbeing on the roofmarked three little childrenplaying ina puddle belowvery dirtyand friendlyandhappy. To these three presently came another little one."POLLY"says she"YOUR SISTER'S GOT A PENNY."  At whichthechildren got up from the puddle instantlyand ranoff to paytheir court to Peggy.  And as the omnibus droveoff I sawPeggy with the infantine procession at hertailmarching with great dignity towards the stall of aneighbouringlollipop-woman.

CHAPTERXXIVInWhich Mr. Osborne Takes Down the Family Bible

So havingprepared the sistersDobbin hastened awayto theCity to perform the rest and more difficult partof thetask which he had undertaken.  The idea of facingoldOsborne rendered him not a little nervousand morethan oncehe thought of leaving the young ladies tocommunicatethe secretwhichas he was awarethey couldnot longretain.  But he had promised to report to Georgeupon themanner in which the elder Osborne bore theintelligence;so going into the City to the paternalcounting-housein Thames Streethe despatched thencea note toMr. Osborne begging for a half-hour's conversationrelativeto the affairs of his son George.  Dobbin's messengerreturnedfrom Mr. Osborne's house of businesswith thecomplimentsof the latterwho would be very happy to see theCaptainimmediatelyand away accordingly Dobbin wenttoconfront him.

TheCaptainwith a half-guilty secret to confessandwith theprospect of a painful and stormy interviewbeforehimentered Mr. Osborne's offices with a mostdismalcountenance and abashed gaitandpassing throughthe outerroom where Mr. Chopper presidedwas greetedby thatfunctionary from his desk with a waggish airwhichfarther discomfited him.  Mr. Chopper winked andnodded andpointed his pen towards his patron's doorand said"You'll find the governor all right" with themostprovoking good humour.

Osbornerose tooand shook him heartily by the handand said"How domy dear boy?" with a cordiality thatmade poorGeorge's ambassador feel doubly guilty.  Hishand layas if dead in the old gentleman's grasp.  He feltthat heDobbinwas more or less the cause of all thathadhappened.  It was he had brought back George toAmelia: itwas he had applaudedencouragedtransactedalmost themarriage which he was come to reveal toGeorge'sfather:  and the latter was receiving him withsmiles ofwelcome; patting him on the shoulderand callinghim"Dobbinmy dear boy." The envoy had indeedgoodreason to hang his head.

Osbornefully believed that Dobbin had come toannouncehis son's surrender.  Mr. Chopper and hisprincipalwere talking over the matter between George andhisfatherat the very moment when Dobbin's messengerarrived. Both agreed that George was sending in hissubmission. Both had been expecting it for some days--and"Lord!Chopperwhat a marriage we'll have!" Mr.Osbornesaid to his clerksnapping his big fingersandjinglingall the guineas and shillings in his great pocketsas he eyedhis subordinate with a look of triumph.

Withsimilar operations conducted in both pocketsand aknowing jolly airOsborne from his chair regardedDobbinseated blank and silent opposite to him.  "Whata bumpkinhe is for a Captain in the army" old Osbornethought. "I wonder George hasn't taught him bettermanners."

At lastDobbin summoned courage to begin.  "Sir" saidhe"I'vebrought you some very grave news.  I have beenat theHorse Guards this morningand there's no doubtthat ourregiment will be ordered abroadand on itsway toBelgium before the week is over.  And you knowsirthatwe shan't be home again before a tussle whichmay befatal to many of us." Osborne looked grave.  "My s--the regiment willdo itsdutysirI daresay" he said.

"TheFrench are very strongsir" Dobbin went on."TheRussians and Austrians will be a long time beforethey canbring their troops down.  We shall have the firstof thefightsir; and depend on it Boney will take carethat itshall be a hard one."

"Whatare you driving atDobbin?" his interlocutorsaiduneasy and with a scowl.  "I suppose no Briton'safraid ofany d-- Frenchmanhey?"

"Ionly meanthat before we goand considering thegreat andcertain risk that hangs over every one of us--if thereare any differences between you and George--itwould beas wellsirthat--that you should shake hands:wouldn'tit?  Should anything happen to himI think youwouldnever forgive yourself if you hadn't parted incharity."

As he saidthispoor William Dobbin blushed crimsonand feltand owned that he himself was a traitor.  Butfor himperhapsthis severance need never have takenplace. Why had not George's marriage been delayed?What callwas there to press it on so eagerly?  He felt thatGeorgewould have parted from Amelia at any rate withouta mortalpang.  AmeliatooMIGHT have recovered theshock oflosing him.  It was his counsel had broughtabout thismarriageand all that was to ensue from it.And whywas it?  Because he loved her so much that hecould notbear to see her unhappy:  or because his ownsufferingsof suspense were so unendurable that he wasglad tocrush them at once--as we hasten a funeralafter adeathorwhen a separation from those we loveisimminentcannot rest until the parting be over.

"Youare a good fellowWilliam" said Mr. Osborne ina softenedvoice; "and me and George shouldn't part inangerthat is true.  Look here.  I've done for him asmuch asany father ever did.  He's had three times asmuch moneyfrom meas I warrant your father evergave you. But I don't brag about that.  How I've toiledfor himand worked and employed my talents and energyI won'tsay.  Ask Chopper.  Ask himself.  Ask the City ofLondon. WellI propose to him such a marriage as anynoblemanin the land might be proud of--the only thingin life Iever asked him--and he refuses me.  Am I wrong?Is thequarrel of MY making?  What do I seek but hisgoodforwhich I've been toiling like a convict ever sincehe wasborn?  Nobody can say there's anything selfish inme. Let him come back.  I sayhere's my hand.  I sayforget andforgive.  As for marrying nowit's out of thequestion. Let him and Miss S. make it upand make out themarriageafterwardswhen he comes back a Colonel;for heshall be a Colonelby G-- he shallif moneycan doit.  I'm glad you've brought him round.  I know it'syouDobbin.  You've took him out of many a scrapebefore. Let him come.  I shan't be hard.  Come alonganddine inRussell Square to-day: both of you.  The old shopthe oldhour.  You'll find a neck of venisonand noquestionsasked."

Thispraise and confidence smote Dobbin's heart verykeenly. Every moment the colloquy continued in thistonehefelt more and more guilty.  "Sir" said he"Ifear youdeceive yourself.  I am sure you do.  George ismuch toohigh-minded a man ever to marry for money.  Athreat onyour part that you would disinherit him incase ofdisobedience would only be followed by resistanceon his."

"Whyhang itmanyou don't call offering him eightor tenthousand a year threatening him?'' Mr. Osbornesaidwithstill provoking good humour.  "'Gadif MissS. willhave meI'm her man.  I ain't particular about ashade orso of tawny." And the old gentleman gave hisknowinggrin and coarse laugh.

"Youforgetsirprevious engagements into whichCaptainOsborne had entered" the ambassador saidgravely.

"Whatengagements? What the devil do you mean?You don'tmean" Mr. Osborne continuedgatheringwrath andastonishment as the thought now first cameupon him;"you don't mean that he's such a d-- foolas to bestill hankering after that swindling old bankrupt'sdaughter? You've not come here for to make mesupposethat he wants to marry HER?  Marry HERthat ISa goodone.  My son and heir marry a beggar's girl out ofa gutter. D-- himif he doeslet him buy a broomand sweepa crossing.  She was always dangling and oglingafter himI recollect now; and I've no doubt she wasput on byher old sharper of a father."

"Mr.Sedley was your very good friendsir" Dobbininterposedalmost pleased at finding himself growingangry. "Time was you called him better names thanrogue andswindler.  The match was of your making.George hadno right to play fast and loose--"

"Fastand loose!" howled out old Osborne.  "Fast andloose! Whyhang methose are the very words mygentlemanused himself when he gave himself airslastThursdaywas a fortnightand talked about the British armyto hisfather who made him.  Whatit's you who havebeen asetting of him up--is it? and my service to youCAPTAIN. It's you who want to introduce beggars into myfamily. Thank you for nothingCaptain.  Marry HER indeed--hehe!why should he?  I warrant you she'd go to himfastenough without."

"Sir"said Dobbinstarting up in undisguised anger;"noman shall abuse that lady in my hearingand youleast ofall."

"Oyou're a-going to call me outare you?  Stoplet mering thebell for pistols for two.  Mr. George sent youhere toinsult his fatherdid he?" Osborne saidpullingat thebell-cord.

"Mr.Osborne" said Dobbinwith a faltering voice"it'syou who are insulting the best creature in the world.You hadbest spare hersirfor she's your son's wife."

And withthisfeeling that he could say no moreDobbinwent awayOsborne sinking back in his chairandlookingwildly after him.  A clerk came inobedient to thebell; andthe Captain was scarcely out of the court whereMr.Osborne's offices werewhen Mr. Chopper the chiefclerk camerushing hatless after him.

"ForGod's sakewhat is it?" Mr. Chopper saidcatchingtheCaptain by the skirt.  "The governor's in a fit.What hasMr. George been doing?"

"Hemarried Miss Sedley five days ago" Dobbin replied."Iwas his groomsmanMr. Chopperand you muststand hisfriend."

The oldclerk shook his head.  "If that's your newsCaptainit's bad.  The governor will never forgive him."

Dobbinbegged Chopper to report progress to him atthe hotelwhere he was stoppingand walked off moodilywestwardsgreatly perturbed as to the past and thefuture.

When theRussell Square family came to dinner thateveningthey found the father of the house seated in hisusualplacebut with that air of gloom on his facewhichwheneverit appeared therekept the whole circle silent.Theladiesand Mr. Bullock who dined with themfeltthat thenews had been communicated to Mr. Osborne.His darklooks affected Mr. Bullock so far as to renderhim stilland quiet: but he was unusually bland andattentiveto Miss Mariaby whom he satand to her sisterpresidingat the head of the table.

Miss Wirtby consequencewas alone on her side ofthe boarda gap being left between her and Miss JaneOsborne. Now this was George's place when he dined athome; andhis coveras we saidwas laid for him inexpectationof that truant's return.  Nothing occurredduringdinner-time except smiling Mr. Frederick's flaggingconfidentialwhispersand the clinking of plate and chinatointerrupt the silence of the repast.  The servants wentaboutstealthily doing their duty.  Mutes at funerals couldnot lookmore glum than the domestics of Mr. OsborneThe neckof venison of which he had invited Dobbin topartakewas carved by him in perfect silence; but hisown sharewent away almost untastedthough he drankmuchandthe butler assiduously filled his glass.

At lastjust at the end of the dinnerhis eyeswhichhad beenstaring at everybody in turnfixed themselvesfor awhile upon the plate laid for George.  He pointedto itpresently with his left hand.  His daughters looked athim anddid not comprehendor choose to comprehendthesignal; nor did the servants at first understand it.

"Takethat plate away" at last he saidgetting up withanoath--and with this pushing his chair backhe walkedinto hisown room.

Behind Mr.Osborne's dining-room was the usualapartmentwhich went in his house by the name of thestudy; andwas sacred to the master of the house.  HitherMr.Osborne would retire of a Sunday forenoon whennot mindedto go to church; and here pass the morningin hiscrimson leather chairreading the paper.  A coupleof glazedbook-cases were herecontaining standardworks instout gilt bindings.  The "Annual Register" the"Gentleman'sMagazine" "Blair's Sermons" and "HumeandSmollett." From year's end to year's end he nevertook oneof these volumes from the shelf; but there wasno memberof the family that would dare for his life totouch oneof the booksexcept upon those rare Sundayeveningswhen there was no dinner-partyand when thegreatscarlet Bible and Prayer-book were taken out fromthe cornerwhere they stood beside his copy of the Peerageand theservants being rung up to the dining parlourOsborneread the evening service to his family in aloudgrating pompous voice.  No member of the householdchildordomesticever entered that room withouta certainterror.  Here he checked the housekeeper's accountsandoverhauled the butler's cellar-book.  Hence hecouldcommandacross the clean gravel court-yardthebackentrance of the stables with which one of his bellscommunicatedand into this yard the coachman issuedfrom hispremises as into a dockand Osborne swore athim fromthe study window.  Four times a year MissWirtentered this apartment to get her salary; and hisdaughtersto receive their quarterly allowance.  Georgeas a boyhad been horsewhipped in this room manytimes; hismother sitting sick on the stair listening to thecuts ofthe whip.  The boy was scarcely ever known tocry underthe punishment; the poor woman used tofondle andkiss him secretlyand give him money tosoothe himwhen he came out.

There wasa picture of the family over the mantelpieceremovedthither from the front room after Mrs. Osborne'sdeath--Georgewas on a ponythe elder sisterholdinghim up a bunch of flowers; the younger led byhermother's hand; all with red cheeks and large redmouthssimpering on each other in the approved family-portraitmanner.  The mother lay underground nowlongsinceforgotten--the sisters and brother had a hundreddifferentinterests of their ownandfamiliar stillwereutterlyestranged from each other.  Some few score ofyearsafterwardswhen all the parties represented aregrown oldwhat bitter satire there is in those flauntingchildishfamily-portraitswith their farce of sentiment andsmilingliesand innocence so self-conscious and self-satisfied. Osborne's own state portraitwith that of hisgreatsilver inkstand and arm-chairhad taken the placeof honourin the dining-roomvacated by the family-piece.

To thisstudy old Osborne retired thengreatly to therelief ofthe small party whom he left.  When theservantshad withdrawnthey began to talk for a whilevolublybut very low; then they went upstairs quietlyMr.Bullock accompanying them stealthily on his creakingshoes. He had no heart to sit alone drinking wineand soclose to the terrible old gentleman in the studyhard athand.

An hour atleast after darkthe butlernot havingreceivedany summonsventured to tap at his door andtake himin wax candles and tea.  The master of thehouse satein his chairpretending to read the paperand whenthe servantplacing the lights and refreshmenton thetable by himretiredMr. Osborne got up andlocked thedoor after him.  This time there was no mistakingthematter; all the household knew that some greatcatastrophewas going to happen which was likely direlyto affectMaster George.

In thelarge shining mahogany escritoire Mr. Osbornehad adrawer especially devoted to his son's affairs andpapers. Here he kept all the documents relating to himever sincehe had been a boy: here were his prize copy-books anddrawing-booksall bearing George's handand thatof the master:  here were his first letters in largeround-handsending his love to papa and mammaandconveyinghis petitions for a cake.  His dear godpapaSedley wasmore than once mentioned in them.  Cursesquiveredon old Osborne's livid lipsand horrid hatredanddisappointment writhed in his heartas lookingthroughsome of these papers he came on that name.They wereall marked and docketedand tied with red tape.Itwas--From Georgyrequesting 5s.April 2318--;answeredApril 25"--or "Georgy about a ponyOctober13"--andso forth. In another packet were "Dr. S.'s accounts"--"G.'stailor's bills and outfitsdrafts on me byG.Osbornejun." &c.--his letters from the West Indies--hisagent's lettersand the newspapers containing hiscommissions:here was a whip he had when a boyand ina paper alocket containing his hairwhich his motherused towear.

Turningone over after anotherand musing over thesememorialsthe unhappy man passed many hours.  Hisdearestvanitiesambitious hopeshad all been here.  Whatpride hehad in his boy!  He was the handsomest childeverseen.  Everybody said he was like a nobleman'sson. A royal princess had remarked himand kissedhimandasked his name in Kew Gardens.  What Cityman couldshow such another?  Could a prince have beenbettercared for?  Anything that money could buy hadbeen hisson's.  He used to go down on speech-days withfourhorses and new liveriesand scatter new shillingsamong theboys at the school where George was:  whenhe wentwith George to the depot of his regimentbeforethe boyembarked for Canadahe gave the officerssuch adinner as the Duke of York might have sat downto. Had he ever refused a bill when George drew one?There theywere--paid without a word.  Many a generalin thearmy couldn't ride the horses he had!  He had thechildbefore his eyeson a hundred different days whenheremembered George after dinnerwhen he usedto come inas bold as a lord and drink off his glass byhisfather's sideat the head of the table--on the ponyatBrightonwhen he cleared the hedge and kept up withthehuntsman--on the day when he was presented tothe PrinceRegent at the leveewhen all Saint James'scouldn'tproduce a finer young fellow.  And thisthis wasthe end ofall!--to marry a bankrupt and fly in the faceof dutyand fortune!  What humiliation and fury:  whatpangs ofsickening ragebalked ambition and love; whatwounds ofoutraged vanitytenderness evenhad thisoldworldling now to suffer under!

Havingexamined these papersand pondered over thisone andthe otherin that bitterest of all helpless woewith whichmiserable men think of happy past times--George'sfather took the whole of the documents out ofthe drawerin which he had kept them so longand lockedthem intoa writing-boxwhich he tiedand sealed withhis seal. Then he opened the book-caseand took downthe greatred Bible we have spoken of a pompousbookseldom looked atand shining all over with gold.There wasa frontispiece to the volumerepresentingAbrahamsacrificing Isaac.  Hereaccording to customOsbornehad recorded on the fly-leafand in his largeclerk-likehandthe dates of his marriage and his wife'sdeathandthe births and Christian names of his children.Jane camefirstthen George Sedley Osbornethen MariaFrancesand the days of the christening of each.  Takinga penhecarefully obliterated George's names fromthe page;and when the leaf was quite dryrestored thevolume tothe place from which he had moved it.  Thenhe took adocument out of another drawerwhere hisownprivate papers were kept; and having read itcrumpledit up andlighted it at one of the candlesand saw itburnentirely away in the grate.  It was his will; whichbeingburnedhe sate down and wrote off a letterandrang forhis servantwhom he charged to deliver it in themorning. It was morning already: as he went up to bedthe wholehouse was alight with the sunshine; and thebirds weresinging among the fresh green leaves inRussellSquare.

Anxious tokeep all Mr. Osborne's family and dependantsin goodhumourand to make as many friends aspossiblefor George in his hour of adversityWilliam Dobbinwho knewthe effect which good dinners and goodwines haveupon the soul of manwrote off immediatelyon hisreturn to his inn the most hospitable of invitationsto ThomasChopperEsquirebegging that gentleman todine withhim at the Slaughters' next day.  The notereachedMr. Chopper before he left the Cityand theinstantreply wasthat "Mr. Chopper presents hisrespectfulcomplimentsand will have the honour andpleasureof waiting on Captain D."  The invitation and theroughdraft of the answer were shown to Mrs. Chopperand herdaughters on his return to Somers' Town thateveningand they talked about military gents and WestEnd menwith great exultation as the family sate andpartook oftea.  When the girls had gone to restMr. andMrs. C.discoursed upon the strange events which wereoccurringin the governor's family.  Never had the clerkseen hisprincipal so moved.  When he went in to Mr.Osborneafter Captain Dobbin's departureMr. Chopperfound hischief black in the faceand all but in a fit:somedreadful quarrelhe was certainhad occurredbetweenMr. O. and the young Captain.  Chopper had beeninstructedto make out an account of all sums paid toCaptainOsborne within the last three years.  "And apreciouslot of money he has had too" the chief clerk saidandrespected his old and young master the morefortheliberal way in which the guineas had been flung about.Thedispute was something about Miss Sedley.  Mrs.Choppervowed and declared she pitied that poor younglady tolose such a handsome young fellow as the Capting.As thedaughter of an unlucky speculatorwho had paid averyshabby dividendMr. Chopper had no great regardfor MissSedley.  He respected the house of Osbornebefore allothers in the City of London: and his hope andwish wasthat Captain George should marry a nobleman'sdaughter. The clerk slept a great deal sounder thanhisprincipal that night; andcuddling his children afterbreakfast(of which he partook with a very heartyappetitethough his modest cup of life was onlysweetenedwith brown sugar)he set off in his best Sundaysuit andfrilled shirt for businesspromising his admiringwife notto punish Captain D.'s port too severely thatevening.

Mr.Osborne's countenancewhen he arrived in theCity athis usual timestruck those dependants who wereaccustomedfor good reasonsto watch its expressionaspeculiarly ghastly and worn.  At twelve o'clock Mr.Higgs (ofthe firm of Higgs & BlatherwicksolicitorsBedfordRow) called by appointmentand was usheredinto thegovernor's private roomand closeted there formore thanan hour.  At about one Mr. Chopperreceived anote brought by Captain Dobbin's manandcontainingan inclosure for Mr. Osbornewhich the clerkwent inand delivered.  A short time afterwards Mr.Chopperand Mr. Birchthe next clerkwere summonedandrequestedto witness a paper.  "I've been making a newwill"Mr. Osborne saidto which these gentlemenappendedtheir names accordingly.  No conversationpassed. Mr. Higgs looked exceedingly grave as he cameinto theouter roomsand very hard in Mr. Chopper'sface; butthere were not any explanations.  It wasremarkedthat Mr. Osborne was particularly quiet andgentle alldayto the surprise of those who had augured illfrom hisdarkling demeanour.  He called no man namesthat dayand was not heard to swear once.  He left businessearly; andbefore going awaysummoned his chiefclerk oncemoreand having given him general instructionsasked himafter some seeming hesitation and reluctanceto speakif he knew whether Captain Dobbin was in town?

Choppersaid he believed he was.  Indeed both of themknew thefact perfectly.

Osbornetook a letter directed to that officerandgiving itto the clerkrequested the latter to deliver itintoDobbin's own hands immediately.

"AndnowChopper" says hetaking his hatand witha strangelook"my mind will be easy."  Exactly as theclockstruck two (there was no doubt an appointmentbetweenthe pair) Mr. Frederick Bullock calledand heand Mr.Osborne walked away together.

TheColonel of the --th regimentin which MessieursDobbin andOsborne had companieswas an old Generalwho hadmade his first campaign under Wolfe at Quebecand waslong since quite too old and feeble for command;but hetook some interest in the regiment of whichhe was thenominal headand made certain of his youngofficerswelcome at his tablea kind of hospitalitywhich Ibelieve is not now common amongst hisbrethren. Captain Dobbin was an especial favouriteof thisold General.  Dobbin was versed in the literatureof hisprofessionand could talk about the great Frederickand theEmpress Queenand their warsalmost as wellas theGeneral himselfwho was indifferent to the triumphsof thepresent dayand whose heart was with thetacticiansof fifty years back.  This officer sent a summonsto Dobbinto come and breakfast with himon themorningwhen Mr. Osborne altered his will and Mr. Chopperput on hisbest shirt frilland then informed his youngfavouritea couple of days in advanceof that which theywere allexpecting--a marching order to go to Belgium.The orderfor the regiment to hold itself in readinesswouldleave the Horse Guards in a day or two; and astransportswere in plentythey would get their routebefore theweek was over.  Recruits had come in duringthe stayof the regiment at Chatham; and the old Generalhoped thatthe regiment which had helped to beatMontcalmin Canadaand to rout Mr. Washington onLongIslandwould prove itself worthy of its historicalreputationon the oft-trodden battle-grounds of the LowCountries. "And somy good friendif you have anyaffairelasaid the old Generaltaking a pinch of snuffwith histrembling white old handand then pointing tothe spotof his robe de chambre under which his heartwas stillfeebly beating"if you have any Phillis to consoleor to bidfarewell to papa and mammaor any willto makeIrecommend you to set about your businesswithoutdelay." With which the General gave his youngfriend afinger to shakeand a good-natured nod of hispowderedand pigtailed head; and the door being closeduponDobbinsate down to pen a poulet (he wasexceedinglyvain of his French) to MademoiselleAmenaideof His Majesty's Theatre.

This newsmade Dobbin graveand he thought of ourfriends atBrightonand then he was ashamed of himselfthatAmelia was always the first thing in his thoughts(alwaysbefore anybody--before father and mothersistersand duty--always at waking and sleeping indeedand allday long); and returning to his hotelhe sent off abrief noteto Mr. Osborne acquainting him with theinformationwhich he had receivedand which might tendfartherhe hopedto bring about a reconciliation withGeorge.

This notedespatched by the same messenger who hadcarriedthe invitation to Chopper on the previous dayalarmedthe worthy clerk not a little.  It was inclosed tohimandas he opened the letter he trembled lest thedinnershould be put off on which he was calculating.  Hismind wasinexpressibly relieved when he found that theenvelopewas only a reminder for himself.  ("I shallexpect youat half-past five" Captain Dobbin wrote.) He wasvery muchinterested about his employer's family; butquevoulez-vous? a grand dinner was of more concern tohim thanthe affairs of any other mortal.

Dobbin wasquite justified in repeating the General'sinformationto any officers of the regiment whom heshould seein the course of his peregrinations; accordinglyheimparted it to Ensign Stubblewhom he met at theagent'sand who--such was his military ardour--wentoffinstantly to purchase a new sword at theaccoutrement-maker's. Here this young fellowwhothoughonly seventeen years of ageand about sixty-fiveincheshighwith a constitution naturally rickety andmuchimpaired by premature brandy and waterhad anundoubtedcourage and a lion's heartpoisedtriedbentandbalanced a weapon such as he thought would do executionamongstFrenchmen.  Shouting "Haha!" and stamping his littlefeet withtremendous energyhe delivered the point twiceor thriceat Captain Dobbinwho parried the thrustlaughinglywith his bamboo walking-stick.

Mr.Stubbleas may be supposed from his size andslendernesswas of the Light Bobs.  Ensign Spooneyonthecontrarywas a tall youthand belonged to (CaptainDobbin's)the Grenadier Companyand he tried on a newbearskincapunder which he looked savage beyond hisyears. Then these two lads went off to the Slaughters'andhavingordered a famous dinnersate down and wrote offletters tothe kind anxious parents at home--letters full oflove andheartinessand pluck and bad spelling.  Ah! therewere manyanxious hearts beating through England atthat time;and mothers' prayers and tears flowing in manyhomesteads.

Seeingyoung Stubble engaged in composition at one ofthecoffee-room tables at the Slaughters'and the tearstricklingdown his nose on to the paper (for the youngsterwasthinking of his mammaand that he might never seeheragain)Dobbinwho was going to write off a letter toGeorgeOsbornerelentedand locked up his desk.  "Whyshould I?"said he.  "Let her have this night happy.  I'll goand see myparents early in the morningand go down toBrightonmyself to-morrow."

So he wentup and laid his big hand on young Stubble'sshoulderand backed up that young championand toldhim if hewould leave off brandy and water he wouldbe a goodsoldieras he always was a gentlemanly good-heartedfellow.  Young Stubble's eyes brightened up at thisfor Dobbinwas greatly respected in the regimentas thebestofficer and the cleverest man in it.

"ThankyouDobbin" he saidrubbing his eyes withhisknuckles"I was just--just telling her I would.  AndO Sirshe's so dam kind to me." The water pumps wereat workagainand I am not sure that the soft-heartedCaptain'seyes did not also twinkle.

The twoensignsthe Captainand Mr. Chopperdinedtogetherin the same box.  Chopper brought the letter fromMr.Osbornein which the latter briefly presented hiscomplimentsto Captain Dobbinand requested him toforwardthe inclosed to Captain George Osborne.  Chopperknewnothing further; he described Mr. Osborne's appearanceit istrueand his interview with his lawyerwonderedhow thegovernor had sworn at nobodyand--especiallyas thewine circled round--abounded in speculationsandconjectures.  But these grew more vague witheveryglassand at length became perfectly unintelligible.At a latehour Captain Dobbin put his guest into a hackneycoachina hiccupping stateand swearing that he wouldbe thekick--the kick--Captain's friend for ever and ever.

WhenCaptain Dobbin took leave of Miss Osborne wehave saidthat he asked leave to come and pay heranothervisitand the spinster expected him for some hoursthe nextdaywhenperhapshad he comeand had heasked herthat question which she was prepared to answershe wouldhave declared herself as her brother'sfriendand a reconciliation might have been effectedbetweenGeorge and his angry father.  But though she waitedat homethe Captain never came.  He had his own affairsto pursue;his own parents to visit and console; and at anearly hourof the day to take his place on the Lightningcoachandgo down to his friends at Brighton.  In thecourse ofthe day Miss Osborne heard her father giveordersthat that meddling scoundrelCaptain Dobbinshouldnever be admitted within his doors againand anyhopes inwhich she may have indulged privately were thusabruptlybrought to an end.  Mr. Frederick Bullock cameand wasparticularly affectionate to Mariaand attentiveto thebroken-spirited old gentleman.  For though he saidhis mindwould be easythe means which he had taken tosecurequiet did not seem to have succeeded as yetandthe eventsof the past two days had visibly shattered him.

CHAPTERXXVInWhich All the Principal Personages Think FittoLeave Brighton

Conductedto the ladiesat the Ship InnDobbin assumeda jovialand rattling mannerwhich proved that thisyoungofficer was becoming a more consummate hypocriteevery dayof his life.  He was trying to hide his ownprivatefeelingsfirst upon seeing Mrs. George Osbornein her newconditionand secondly to mask theapprehensionshe entertained as to the effect whichthe dismalnews brought down by him would certainlyhave uponher.

"Itis my opinionGeorge" he said"that the FrenchEmperorwill be upon ushorse and footbefore threeweeks areoverand will give the Duke such a dance asshall makethe Peninsula appear mere child's play.  Butyou neednot say that to Mrs. Osborneyou know.  Theremayn't beany fighting on our side after alland ourbusinessin Belgium may turn out to be a mere militaryoccupation. Many persons think so; and Brussels is fullof finepeople and ladies of fashion." So it was agreed torepresentthe duty of the British army in Belgium in thisharmlesslight to Amelia.

This plotbeing arrangedthe hypocritical Dobbin salutedMrs.George Osborne quite gailytried to pay herone or twocompliments relative to her new position as abride(which complimentsit must be confessedwereexceedinglyclumsy and hung fire woefully)and then fellto talkingabout Brightonand the sea-airand the gaietiesof theplaceand the beauties of the road and the meritsof theLightning coach and horses--all in a mannerquiteincomprehensible to Ameliaand very amusing toRebeccawho was watching the Captainas indeed shewatchedevery one near whom she came.

LittleAmeliait must be ownedhad rather a meanopinion ofher husband's friendCaptain Dobbin.  He lisped--he wasvery plain and homely-looking: and exceedinglyawkwardand ungainly.  She liked him for his attachmentto herhusband (to be sure there was very little merit inthat)andshe thought George was most generous andkind inextending his friendship to his brother officer.George hadmimicked Dobbin's lisp and queer mannersmany timesto herthough to do him justicehe alwaysspoke mosthighly of his friend's good qualities.  In herlittle dayof triumphand not knowing him intimately asyetshemade light of honest William--and he knew heropinionsof him quite welland acquiesced in them veryhumbly. A time came when she knew him betterandchangedher notions regarding him; but that was distant asyet.

As forRebeccaCaptain Dobbin had not been two hoursin theladies' company before she understood his secretperfectly. She did not like himand feared him privately;nor was hevery much prepossessed in her favour.  Hewas sohonestthat her arts and cajoleries did not affecthimandhe shrank from her with instinctive repulsion.Andasshe was by no means so far superior to her sex asto beabove jealousyshe disliked him the more for hisadorationof Amelia.  Neverthelessshe was very respectfulandcordial in her manner towards him.  A friend totheOsbornes! a friend to her dearest benefactors!  Shevowed sheshould always love him sincerely: she rememberedhim quitewell on the Vauxhall nightas she toldAmeliaarchlyand she made a little fun of him when thetwo ladieswent to dress for dinner.  Rawdon Crawley paidscarcelyany attention to Dobbinlooking upon him as agood-naturednincompoop and under-bred City man.  Jospatronisedhim with much dignity.

WhenGeorge and Dobbin were alone in the latter'sroomtowhich George had followed himDobbin tookfrom hisdesk the letter which he had been charged byMr.Osborne to deliver to his son.  "It's not in my father'shandwriting"said Georgelooking rather alarmed; norwas it:the letter was from Mr. Osborne's lawyerand tothefollowing effect:

BedfordRowMay 71815.   SIR

I amcommissioned by Mr. Osborne to inform youthat heabides by the determination which he beforeexpressedto youand that in consequence of the marriagewhich youhave been pleased to contracthe ceases toconsideryou henceforth as a member of his family.Thisdetermination is final and irrevocable.

Althoughthe monies expended upon you in yourminorityand the bills which you have drawn uponhim sounsparingly of late yearsfar exceed in amountthe sum towhich you are entitled in your own right(being thethird part of the fortune of your motherthe lateMrs. Osborne and which reverted to you at herdeceaseand to Miss Jane Osborne and Miss MariaFrancesOsborne); yet I am instructed by Mr. Osborneto saythat he waives all claim upon your estateandthat thesum of 20001.4 per cent. annuitiesat thevalue ofthe day (being your one-third share of the sumof60001.)shall be paid over to yourself or your agentsupon yourreceipt for the sameby

Yourobedient Servt.

S. HIGGS.

P.S.--Mr.Osborne desires me to sayonce for allthat hedeclines to receive any messageslettersorcommunicationsfrom you on this or any other subject.

"Apretty way you have managed the affair" saidGeorgelooking savagely at William Dobbin.  "Look thereDobbin"and he flung over to the latter his parent's letter."Abeggarby Joveand all in consequence of my d--dsentimentality. Why couldn't we have waited?  A ball mighthave donefor me in the course of the warand may stilland howwill Emmy be bettered by being left a beggar'swidow? It was all your doing.  You were never easy untilyou hadgot me married and ruined.  What the deuce amI to dowith two thousand pounds?  Such a sum won'tlast twoyears.  I've lost a hundred and forty to Crawley atcards andbilliards since I've been down here.  A prettymanager ofa man's matters YOU areforsooth."

"There'sno denying that the position is a hard one"Dobbinrepliedafter reading over the letter with a blankcountenance;"and as you sayit is partly of my making.There aresome men who wouldn't mind changing withyou"he addedwith a bitter smile.  "How many captainsin theregiment have two thousand pounds to the forethinkyou?  You must live on your pay till your fatherrelentsand if you dieyou leave your wife a hundred ayear."

"Doyou suppose a man of my habits call live on hispay and ahundred a year?" George cried out in greatanger. "You must be a fool to talk soDobbin.  How thedeuce am Ito keep up my position in the world uponsuch apitiful pittance?  I can't change my habits.  I musthave mycomforts.  I wasn't brought up on porridgelikeMacWhirteror on potatoeslike old O'Dowd.  Do youexpect mywife to take in soldiers' washingor ride aftertheregiment in a baggage waggon?"

"Wellwell" said Dobbinstill good-naturedly"we'llget her abetter conveyance.  But try and remember thatyou areonly a dethroned prince nowGeorgemy boy;and bequiet whilst the tempest lasts.  It won't be forlong. Let your name be mentioned in the GazetteandI'llengage the old father relents towards you:"

"Mentionedin the Gazette!" George answered.  "And inwhat partof it?  Among the killed and wounded returnsand at thetop of the listvery likely."

"Psha! It will be time enough to cry out when we arehurt"Dobbin said.  "And if anything happensyou knowGeorgeIhave got a littleand I am not a marryingmanand Ishall not forget my godson in my will" headdedwith a smile.  Whereupon the dispute ended--asmanyscores of  such conversations between Osborneand hisfriend had concluded previously--by the formerdeclaringthere was no possibility of being angry withDobbinlongand forgiving him very generously afterabusinghim without cause.

"IsayBecky" cried Rawdon Crawley out of hisdressing-roomto his ladywho was attiring herself fordinner inher own chamber.

"What?"said Becky's shrill voice.  She was lookingover hershoulder in the glass.  She had put on the neatestandfreshest white frock imaginableand with bareshouldersand a little necklaceand a light blue sashshelooked theimage of youthful innocence and girlishhappiness.

"Isaywhat'll Mrs. O. dowhen 0. goes out with theregiment?"Crawley said coming into the roomperforminga duet onhis head with two huge hair-brushesandlookingout from under his hair with admiration on hisprettylittle wife.

"Isuppose she'll cry her eyes out" Becky answered."Shehas been whimpering half a dozen timesat theverynotion of italready to me."

"YOUdon't careI suppose?" Rawdon saidhalf angryat hiswife's want of feeling.

"Youwretch! don't you know that I intend to go withyou"Becky replied.  "Besidesyou're different.  You goas GeneralTufto's aide-de-camp.  We don't belong to theline"Mrs. Crawley saidthrowing up her head with anair thatso enchanted her husband that he stooped downand kissedit.

"Rawdondear--don't you think--you'd better get that--moneyfrom Cupidbefore he goes?" Becky continuedfixing ona killing bow.  She called George OsborneCupid. She had flattered him about his good looks ascore oftimes already.  She watched over him kindly atecarte ofa night when he would drop in to Rawdon'squartersfor a half-hour before bed-time.

She hadoften called him a horrid dissipated wretchandthreatened to tell Emmy of his wicked ways andnaughtyextravagant habits.  She brought his cigar andlighted itfor him; she knew the effect of that manoeuvrehavingpractised it in former days upon Rawdon Crawley.He thoughther gaybriskarchdistingueedelightful.In theirlittle drives and dinnersBeckyof coursequiteoutshone poor Emmywho remained very muteand timidwhile Mrs. Crawley and her husband rattledawaytogetherand Captain Crawley (and Jos after hejoined theyoung married people) gobbled in silence.

Emmy'smind somehow misgave her about her friend.Rebecca'switspiritsand accomplishments troubled herwith arueful disquiet.  They were only a week marriedand herewas George already suffering ennuiand eagerforothers' society!  She trembled for the future.  Howshall I bea companion for himshe thought--so cleverand sobrilliantand I such a humble foolish creature?How nobleit was of him to marry me--to give up everythingand stoopdown to me!  I ought to have refusedhimonlyI had not the heart.  I ought to have stopped athome andtaken care of poor Papa.  And her neglect ofherparents (and indeed there was some foundation forthischarge which the poor child's uneasy consciencebroughtagainst her) was now remembered for the firsttimeandcaused her to blush with humiliation.  Oh!thoughtsheI have been very wicked and selfish--selfishinforgetting them in their sorrows--selfish in forcingGeorge tomarry me.  I know I'm not worthy of him--Iknow hewould have been happy without me--and yet--I triedItried to give him up.

It is hardwhenbefore seven days of marriage areoversuchthoughts and confessions as these forcethemselveson a little bride's mind.  But so it wasand thenightbefore Dobbin came to join these young people--on a finebrilliant moonlight night of May--so warmand balmythat the windows were flung open to the balconyfrom whichGeorge and Mrs. Crawley were gazing uponthe calmocean spread shining before themwhileRawdon and Jos were engaged at backgammonwithin--Ameliacouched in a great chair quite neglectedandwatchingboth these partiesfelt a despair and remorsesuch aswere bitter companions for that tender lonelysoul. Scarce a week was pastand it was come to this!Thefuturehad she regarded itoffered a dismal prospect;but Emmywas too shyso to speakto look to thatand embarkalone on that wide seaand unfit to navigateit withouta guide and protector.  I know Miss Smith hasa meanopinion of her.  But how manymy dear Madamareendowed with your prodigious strength of mind?

"Gadwhat a fine nightand how bright the moon is!"Georgesaidwith a puff of his cigarwhich went soaringupskywards.

"Howdelicious they smell in the open air!  I adorethem. Who'd think the moon was two hundred and thirty-sixthousand eight hundred and forty-seven miles off?"Beckyaddedgazing at that orb with a smile.  "Isn't itclever ofme to remember that?  Pooh!  we learned it allat MissPinkerton's!  How calm the sea isand how cleareverything. I declare I can almost see the coast ofFrance!"and her bright green eyes streamed outandshot intothe night as if they could see through it.

"Doyou know what I intend to do one morning?" shesaid; "Ifind I can swim beautifullyand some daywhenmy AuntCrawley's companion--old Briggsyou know--youremember her--that hook-nosed womanwith thelong wispsof hair--when Briggs goes out to batheIintend todive under her awningand insist on areconciliationin the water.  Isn't that a stratagem?"

Georgeburst out laughing at the idea of this aquaticmeeting. "What's the row thereyou two?" Rawdonshoutedoutrattling the box.  Amelia was making a foolof herselfin an absurd hysterical mannerand retiredto her ownroom to whimper in private.

Ourhistory is destined in this chapter to go backwardsandforwards in a very irresolute manner seeminglyandhavingconducted our story to to-morrow presentlyweshallimmediately again have occasion to step back toyesterdayso that the whole of the tale may get a hearing.As youbehold at her Majesty's drawing-roomtheambassadors'and high dignitaries' carriages whisk offfrom aprivate doorwhile Captain Jones's ladies are waitingfor theirfly: as you see in the Secretary of the Treasury's antechamberahalf-dozen of petitioners waitingpatientlyfor their audienceand called out one by onewhensuddenly an Irish member or some eminent personageenters theapartmentand instantly walks into Mr.Under-Secretaryover the heads of all the people present:so in theconduct of a talethe romancer is obliged toexercisethis most partial sort of justice.  Although all thelittleincidents must be heardyet they must be put offwhen thegreat events make their appearance; and surelysuch acircumstance as that which brought Dobbin toBrightonviz.the ordering out of the Guards and the linetoBelgiumand the mustering of the allied armies in thatcountryunder the command of his Grace the Duke ofWellington--sucha dignified circumstance as thatI saywasentitled to the pas over all minor occurrences whereofthishistory is composed mainlyand hence a littletriflingdisarrangement and disorder was excusable andbecoming. We have only now advanced in time so farbeyondChapter XXII as to have got our various charactersup intotheir dressing-rooms before the dinnerwhich tookplace as usual on the day of Dobbin's arrival.

George wastoo humane or too much occupied with thetie of hisneckcloth to convey at once all the news toAmeliawhich his comrade had brought with him fromLondon. He came into her roomhoweverholding theattorney'sletter in his handand with so solemn andimportantan air that his wifealways ingeniously onthe watchfor calamitythought the worst was about tobefalland running up to her husbandbesought herdearestGeorge to tell her everything--he was orderedabroad;there would be a battle next week--she knewtherewould.

DearestGeorge parried the question about foreignserviceand with a melancholy shake of the head said"NoEmmy; it isn't that:  it's not myself I care about:it's you. I have had bad news from my father.  He refusesanycommunication with me; he has flung us off; andleaves usto poverty.  I can rough it well enough; butyoumydearhow will you bear it? read here." And hehanded herover the letter.

Ameliawith a look of tender alarm in her eyeslistenedto her noble hero as he uttered the above generoussentimentsand sitting down on the bedread the letterwhichGeorge gave her with such a pompous martyr-likeair. Her face cleared up as she read the documenthowever.The ideaof sharing poverty and privation in companywith thebeloved object isas we have before saidfar frombeing disagreeable to a warm-hearted woman.The notionwas actually pleasant to little Amelia.  Thenas usualshe was ashamed of herself for feeling happy atsuch anindecorous momentand checked her pleasuresayingdemurely"OGeorgehow your poor heart mustbleed atthe idea of being separated from your papa!"

"Itdoes" said Georgewith an agonised countenance.

"Buthe can't be angry with you long" she continued."NobodycouldI'm sure.  He must forgive youmydearestkindest husband.  OI shall never forgive myselfif he doesnot."

"Whatvexes memy poor Emmyis not my misfortunebutyours" George said.  "I don't care for a littlepoverty;and I thinkwithout vanityI've talents enoughto make myown way."

"Thatyou have" interposed his wifewho thought thatwar shouldceaseand her husband should be made ageneralinstantly.

"YesI shall make my way as well as another" Osbornewent on;"but youmy dear girlhow can I bearyour beingdeprived of the comforts and station insocietywhich my wife had a right to expect?  My dearestgirl inbarracks; the wife of a soldier in a marchingregiment;subject to all sorts of annoyance and privation!It makesme miserable."

Emmyquite at easeas this was her husband's onlycause ofdisquiettook his handand with a radiant faceand smilebegan to warble that stanza from the favouritesong of"Wapping Old Stairs" in which the heroineafterrebukingher Tom for inattentionpromises "his trousersto mendand his grog too to make" if he will be constantand kindand not forsake her.  "Besides" she saidafter apauseduring which she looked as pretty andhappy asany young woman need"isn't two thousandpounds animmense deal of moneyGeorge?"

Georgelaughed at her naivete; and finally they wentdown todinnerAmelia clinging to George's armstillwarblingthe tune of "Wapping Old Stairs" and morepleasedand light of mind than she had been for somedays past.

Thus therepastwhich at length came offinstead ofbeingdismalwas an exceedingly brisk and merry one.Theexcitement of the campaign counteracted in George'smind thedepression occasioned by the disinheriting letter.Dobbinstill kept up his character of rattle.  He amusedthecompany with accounts of the army in Belgium;wherenothing but fetes and gaiety and fashion weregoing on. Thenhaving a particular end in viewthisdexterouscaptain proceeded to describe Mrs. MajorO'Dowdpacking her own and her Major's wardrobeandhow hisbest epaulets had been stowed into a tea canisterwhilst herown famous yellow turbanwith the bird ofparadisewrapped in brown paperwas locked up in theMajor'stin cocked-hat caseand wondered what effectit wouldhave at the French king's court at Ghentor thegreatmilitary balls at Brussels.

"Ghent!Brussels!" cried out Amelia with a suddenshock andstart.  "Is the regiment ordered awayGeorge--is itordered away?" A look of terror came over thesweetsmiling faceand she clung to George as by aninstinct.

"Don'tbe afraiddear" he said good-naturedly; "itis but atwelve hours' passage.  It won't hurt you.  Youshall gotooEmmy."

"Iintend to go" said Becky.  "I'm on the staff. GeneralTufto is agreat flirt of mine.  Isn't heRawdon?"Rawdonlaughed out with his usual roar.  WilliamDobbinflushed up quite red.  "She can't go" he said; "thinkof the--ofthe danger" he was going to add; but hadnot allhis conversation during dinner-time tended toprovethere was none?  He became very confused andsilent.

"Imust and will go" Amelia cried with the greatestspirit;and Georgeapplauding her resolutionpatted herunder thechinand asked all the persons present ifthey eversaw such a termagant of a wifeand agreedthat thelady should bear him company.  "We'll haveMrs.O'Dowd to chaperon you" he said.  What cared sheso long asher husband was near her?  Thus somehowthebitterness of a parting was juggled away.  Though warand dangerwere in storewar and danger might notbefall formonths to come.  There was a respite at any ratewhich madethe timid little Amelia almost as happy asa fullreprieve would have doneand which even Dobbinowned inhis heart was very welcome.  Forto be permittedto see herwas now the greatest privilege and hopeof hislifeand he thought with himself secretly how hewouldwatch and protect her.  I wouldn't have let her goif I hadbeen married to herhe thought.  But George wasthemasterand his friend did not think fit to remonstrate.

Puttingher arm round her friend's waistRebecca atlengthcarried Amelia off from the dinner-table where somuchbusiness of importance had been discussedandleft thegentlemen in a highly exhilarated statedrinkingandtalking very gaily.

In thecourse of the evening Rawdon got a little family-note fromhis wifewhichalthough he crumpled it upand burntit instantly in the candlewe had the goodluck toread over Rebecca's shoulder.  "Great news" shewrote. "Mrs. Bute is gone.  Get the money from Cupid tonightas he'llbe off to-morrow most likely.  Mind this.--R."So when the little company was about adjourningto coffeein the women's apartmentRawdon touchedOsborne onthe elbowand said gracefully"I sayOsbornemy boyifquite convenientI'll trouble you forthat 'eresmall trifle." It was not quite convenientbutneverthelessGeorge gave him a considerable presentinstalmentin bank-notes from his pocket-bookand a billon hisagents at a week's datefor the remaining sum.

Thismatter arrangedGeorgeand Josand Dobbinheld acouncil of war over their cigarsand agreed that ageneralmove should be made for London in Jos's opencarriagethe next day.  JosI thinkwould have preferredstayinguntil Rawdon Crawley quitted Brightonbut Dobbinand Georgeoverruled himand he agreed to carrythe partyto townand ordered four horsesas became hisdignity. With these they set off in stateafter breakfastthe nextday.  Amelia had risen very early in the morningand packedher little trunks with the greatest alacritywhileOsborne lay in bed deploring that she had not amaid tohelp her.  She was only too gladhowevertoperformthis office for herself.  A dim uneasy sentimentaboutRebecca filled her mind already; and although theykissedeach other most tenderly at partingyet we knowwhatjealousy is; and Mrs. Amelia possessed that amongothervirtues of her sex.

Besidesthese characters who are coming and goingawaywemust remember that there were some other oldfriends ofours at Brighton; Miss Crawleynamelyandthe suitein attendance upon her.  Nowalthough Rebeccaand herhusband were but at a few stones' throw of thelodgingswhich the invalid Miss Crawley occupiedtheold lady'sdoor remained as pitilessly closed to them as ithad beenheretofore in London.  As long as she remainedby theside of her sister-in-lawMrs. Bute Crawley tookcare thather beloved Matilda should not be agitated by ameetingwith her nephew.  When the spinster took herdrivethefaithful Mrs. Bute sate beside her in the carriage.When MissCrawley took the air in a chairMrs.Butemarched on one side of the vehiclewhilst honestBriggsoccupied the other wing.  And if they met Rawdonand hiswife by chance--although the former constantlyandobsequiously took off his hatthe Miss-Crawley partypassed himby with such a frigid and killing indifferencethatRawdon began to despair.

"Wemight as well be in London as here" CaptainRawdonoften saidwith a downcast air.

"Acomfortable inn in Brighton is better than aspunging-housein Chancery Lane" his wife answeredwho wasof a morecheerful temperament.  "Think of those twoaides-de-campof Mr. Mosesthe sheriff's-officerwhowatchedour lodging for a week.  Our friends here areverystupidbut Mr. Jos and Captain Cupid are bettercompanionsthan Mr. Moses's menRawdonmy love."

"Iwonder the writs haven't followed me down here"Rawdoncontinuedstill desponding.

"Whenthey dowe'll find means to give them the slip"saiddauntless little Beckyand further pointed out to herhusbandthe great comfort and advantage of meetingJos andOsbornewhose acquaintance had brought toRawdonCrawley a most timely little supply of readymoney.

"Itwill hardly be enough to pay the inn bill" grumbledtheGuardsman.

"Whyneed we pay it?" said the ladywho had an answerforeverything.

ThroughRawdon's valetwho still kept up a triflingacquaintancewith the male inhabitants of Miss Crawley'sservants'halland was instructed to treat the coachmanto drinkwhenever they metold Miss Crawley's movementswerepretty well known by our young couple; andRebeccaluckily bethought herself of being unwelland ofcalling inthe same apothecary who was in attendanceupon thespinsterso that their information was on thewholetolerably complete.  Nor was Miss Briggsalthoughforced toadopt a hostile attitudesecretly inimical toRawdon andhis wife.  She was naturally of a kindly andforgivingdisposition.  Now that the cause of jealousy wasremovedher dislike for Rebecca disappeared alsoandsheremembered the latter's invariable good wordsand goodhumour.  Andindeedshe and Mrs.Firkinthe lady's-maidand the whole of Miss Crawley'shouseholdgroaned under the tyranny of thetriumphantMrs. Bute.

As oftenwill be the casethat good but imperiouswomanpushed her advantages too farand her successesquiteunmercifully.  She had in the course of a few weeksbroughtthe invalid to such a state of helpless docilitythat thepoor soul yielded herself entirely to her sister'sordersand did not even dare to complain of her slaveryto Briggsor Firkin.  Mrs. Bute measured out the glassesof winewhich Miss Crawley was daily allowed to takewithirresistible accuracygreatly to the annoyance ofFirkin andthe butlerwho found themselves deprived ofcontrolover even the sherry-bottle.  She apportioned thesweetbreadsjellieschickens; their quantity and order.Night andnoon and morning she brought the abominabledrinksordained by the Doctorand made her patientswallowthem with so affecting an obedience that Firkinsaid "mypoor Missus du take her physic like a lamb." Sheprescribedthe drive in the carriage or the ride in thechairandin a wordground down the old lady in herconvalescencein such a way as only belongs to yourproper-managingmotherly moral woman.  If ever thepatientfaintly resistedand pleaded for a little bit moredinner ora little drop less medicinethe nurse threatenedher withinstantaneous deathwhen Miss Crawleyinstantlygave in.  "She's no spirit left in her" Firkinremarkedto Briggs; "she ain't ave called me a fool thesethreeweeks." FinallyMrs. Bute had made up her mindto dismissthe aforesaid honest lady's-maidMr. Bowlsthe largeconfidential manand Briggs herselfand tosend forher daughters from the Rectoryprevious toremovingthe dear invalid bodily to Queen's Crawleywhenan odiousaccident happened which called her away fromduties sopleasing.  The Reverend Bute Crawleyherhusbandriding home one nightfell with his horse andbroke hiscollar-bone.  Fever and inflammatory symptomsset inand Mrs. Bute was forced to leave Sussex forHampshire. As soon as ever Bute was restoredshepromisedto return to her dearest friendand departedleavingthe strongest injunctions with the householdregardingtheir behaviour to their mistress; and as soon asshe gotinto the Southampton coachthere was such ajubileeand sense of relief in all Miss Crawley's houseas thecompany of persons assembled there had notexperiencedfor many a week before.  That very day MissCrawleyleft off her afternoon dose of medicine:  thatafternoonBowls opened an independent bottle of sherryforhimself and Mrs. Firkin:  that night Miss Crawleyand MissBriggs indulged in a game of piquet insteadof one ofPorteus's sermons.  It was as in the old nursery-storywhen the stick forgot to beat the dogand thewholecourse of events underwent a peaceful and happyrevolution.

At a veryearly hour in the morningtwice or thrice aweekMissBriggs used to betake herself to a bathing-machineand disport in the water in a flannel gown andan oilskincap.  Rebeccaas we have seenwas aware ofthiscircumstanceand though she did not attempt tostormBriggs as she had threatenedand actually diveinto thatlady's presence and surprise her under thesacrednessof the awningMrs. Rawdon determined toattackBriggs as she came away from her bathrefreshedandinvigorated by her dipand likely to be in goodhumour.

So gettingup very early the next morningBeckybroughtthe telescope in their sitting-roomwhich facedthe seato bear upon the bathing-machines on the beach;saw Briggsarriveenter her box; and put out to sea;and was onthe shore just as the nymph of whom shecame inquest stepped out of the little caravan on to theshingles. It was a pretty picture:  the beach; the bathing-women'sfaces; the long line of rocks and building wereblushingand bright in the sunshine.  Rebecca wore a kindtendersmile on her faceand was holding out her prettywhite handas Briggs emerged from the box.  What couldBriggs dobut accept the salutation?

"MissSh--Mrs. Crawley" she said.

Mrs.Crawley seized her handpressed it to her heartand with asudden impulseflinging her arms roundBriggskissed her affectionately.  "Deardear friend!" shesaidwitha touch of such natural feelingthat MissBriggs ofcourse at once began to meltand even thebathing-womanwas mollified.

Rebeccafound no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a longintimateand delightful conversation.  Everything that hadpassedsince the morning of Becky's sudden departurefrom MissCrawley's house in Park Lane up to the presentdayandMrs. Bute's happy retreatwas discussed anddescribedby Briggs.  All Miss Crawley's symptomsandtheparticulars of her illness and medical treatmentwerenarratedby the confidante with that fulness andaccuracywhich women delight in.  About their complaintsand theirdoctors do ladies ever tire of talking to eachother? Briggs did not on this occasion; nor did Rebeccaweary oflistening.  She was thankfultruly thankfulthatthe dearkind Briggsthat the faithfulthe invaluableFirkinhad been permitted to remain with their benefactressthroughher illness.  Heaven bless her! though sheRebeccahad seemed to act undutifully towards MissCrawley;yet was not her fault a natural and excusable one?Could shehelp giving her hand to the man who had wonherheart?  Briggsthe sentimentalcould only turn upher eyesto heaven at this appealand heave asympatheticsighand think that shetoohad givenaway heraffections long years agoand own that Rebeccawas novery great criminal.

"CanI ever forget her who so befriended the friendlessorphan? Nothough she has cast me off" the lattersaid"Ishall never cease to love herand I would devotemy life toher service.  As my own benefactressas mybelovedRawdon's adored relativeI love and admire MissCrawleydear Miss Briggsbeyond any woman in theworldandnext to her I love all those who are faithfulto her. I would never have treated Miss Crawley'sfaithfulfriends as that odious designing Mrs. Bute hasdone. Rawdonwho was all heart" Rebecca continued"althoughhis outward manners might seem rough andcarelesshad said a hundred timeswith tears in his eyesthat heblessed Heaven for sending his dearest Aunty twosuchadmirable nurses as her attached Firkin and heradmirableMiss Briggs.  Should the machinations of thehorribleMrs. Bute endas she too much feared they wouldinbanishing everybody that Miss Crawley loved from hersideandleaving that poor lady a victim to those harpiesat theRectoryRebecca besought her (Miss Briggs) torememberthat her own homehumble as it waswasalwaysopen to receive Briggs.  Dear friend" sheexclaimedin a transport of enthusiasm"some heartscan neverforget benefits; all women are not ButeCrawleys! Though why should I complain of her" Rebeccaadded;"though I have been her tool and the victim to herartsdo Inot owe my dearest Rawdon to her?"  AndRebeccaunfolded to Briggs all Mrs. Bute's conduct atQueen'sCrawleywhichthough unintelligible to her thenwasclearly enough explained by the events now--nowthat theattachment had sprung up which Mrs. Bute hadencouragedby a thousand artifices--now that twoinnocentpeople had fallen into the snares which she hadlaid forthemand loved and married and been ruinedthroughher schemes.

It was allvery true.  Briggs saw the stratagems asclearly aspossible.  Mrs. Bute had made the matchbetweenRawdon and Rebecca.  Yetthough the latter was aperfectlyinnocent victimMiss Briggs could not disguisefrom herfriend her fear that Miss Crawley's affectionswerehopelessly estranged from Rebeccaand that the oldlady wouldnever forgive her nephew for making soimprudenta marriage.

On thispoint Rebecca had her own opinionandstill keptup a good heart.  If Miss Crawley did notforgivethem at presentshe might at least relent on afutureday.  Even nowthere was only that pulingsicklyPittCrawley between Rawdon and a baronetcy; and shouldanythinghappen to the formerall would be well.  At alleventstohave Mrs. Bute's designs exposedand herselfwellabusedwas a satisfactionand might be advantageoustoRawdon's interest; and Rebeccaafter an hour'schat withher recovered friendleft her with the mosttenderdemonstrations of regardand quite assured thattheconversation they had had together would bereportedto Miss Crawley before many hours were over.

Thisinterview endedit became full time for Rebeccato returnto her innwhere all the party of the previousday wereassembled at a farewell breakfast.  Rebecca tooksuch atender leave of Amelia as became two women wholoved eachother as sisters; and having used her handkerchiefplentifullyand hung on her friend's neck as if theywereparting for everand waved the handkerchief(which wasquite dryby the way) out of windowas thecarriagedrove offshe came back to the breakfast tableand atesome prawns with a good deal of appetiteconsideringher emotion; and while she was munching thesedelicaciesexplained to Rawdon what had occurred in hermorningwalk between herself and Briggs.  Her hopeswere veryhigh:  she made her husband share them.  Shegenerallysucceeded in making her husband share all heropinionswhether melancholy or cheerful.

"Youwill nowif you pleasemy dearsit down at thewriting-tableand pen me a pretty little letter to MissCrawleyin which you'll say that you are a good boyand thatsort of thing."  So Rawdon sate downand wroteoff"BrightonThursday" and "My dear Aunt" withgreatrapidity: but there the gallant officer's imaginationfailedhim.  He mumbled the end of his penand lookedup in hiswife's face.  She could not help laughing at hisruefulcountenanceand marching up and down the roomwith herhands behind herthe little woman began todictate aletterwhich he took down.

"Beforequitting the country and commencing a campaignwhich verypossibly may be fatal."

"What?"said Rawdonrather surprisedbut took thehumour ofthe phraseand presently wrote it down witha grin.

"Whichvery possibly may be fatalI have comehither--"

"Whynot say come hereBecky?  Come here's grammar"thedragoon interposed.

"Ihave come hither" Rebecca insistedwith a stampof herfoot"to say farewell to my dearest and earliestfriend. I beseech you before I gonot perhaps toreturnonce more to let me press the hand from whichI havereceived nothing but kindnesses all my life."

"Kindnessesall my life" echoed Rawdonscratchingdown thewordsand quite amazed at his own facility ofcomposition.

"Iask nothing from you but that we should part not inanger. I have the pride of my family on some pointsthough noton all.  I married a painter's daughterand amnotashamed of the union."

"Norun me through the body if I am!" Rawdon ejaculated.

"Youold booby" Rebecca saidpinching his ear andlookingover to see that he made no mistakes in spelling--"beseechis not spelt with an aand earliest is."  So healteredthese wordsbowing to the superior knowledge ofhis littleMissis.

"Ithought that you were aware of the progress of myattachment"Rebecca continued:  "I knew that Mrs. ButeCrawleyconfirmed and encouraged it.  But I make noreproaches. I married a poor womanand am content toabide bywhat I have done.  Leave your propertydearAuntasyou will.  I shall never complain of the way inwhich youdispose of it.  I would have you believe that Ilove youfor yourselfand not for money's sake.  I want tobereconciled to you ere I leave England.  Let meletme see youbefore I go.  A few weeks or months hence itmay be toolateand I cannot bear the notion of quittingthecountry without a kind word of farewell from you."

"Shewon't recognise my style in that" said Becky.  "Imade thesentences short and brisk on purpose." Andthisauthentic missive was despatched under cover to MissBriggs.

Old MissCrawley laughed when Briggswith greatmysteryhanded her over this candid and simplestatement. "We may read it now Mrs. Bute is away"she said. "Read it to meBriggs."

WhenBriggs had read the epistle outher patronesslaughedmore.  "Don't you seeyou goose" she said toBriggswho professed to be much touched by the honestaffectionwhich pervaded the composition"don't yousee thatRawdon never wrote a word of it.  He neverwrote tome without asking for money in his lifeand allhisletters are full of bad spellingand dashesand badgrammar. It is that little serpent of a governess who ruleshim."They are all alikeMiss Crawley thought in herheart. They all want me deadand are hankering for mymoney.

"Idon't mind seeing Rawdon" she addedafter apauseandin a tone of perfect indifference.  "I had justas soonshake hands with him as not.  Provided there isno scenewhy shouldn't we meet?  I don't mind.  Buthumanpatience has its limits; and mindmy dearIrespectfullydecline to receive Mrs. Rawdon--I can'tsupportthat quite"--and Miss Briggs was fain to be contentwith thishalf-message of conciliation; and thought thatthe bestmethod of bringing the old lady and her nephewtogetherwas to warn Rawdon to be in waiting on theCliffwhen Miss Crawley went out for her air in herchair.

There theymet.  I don't know whether Miss Crawleyhad anyprivate feeling of regard or emotion upon seeingher oldfavourite; but she held out a couple of fingersto himwith as smiling and good-humoured an airas ifthey hadmet only the day before.  And as for Rawdonhe turnedas red as scarletand wrung off Briggs's handso greatwas his rapture and his confusion at the meeting.Perhaps itwas interest that moved him:  or perhapsaffection: perhaps he was touched by the change whichtheillness of the last weeks had wrought in his aunt.

"Theold girl has always acted like a trump to me" hesaid tohis wifeas he narrated the interview"and I feltyou knowrather queerand that sort of thing.  I walkedby theside of the what-dy'e-call-'emyou knowand toher owndoorwhere Bowls came to help her in.  And Iwanted togo in very muchonly--"

"YOUDIDN'T GO INRawdon!" screamed his wife.

"Nomy dear; I'm hanged if I wasn't afraid when itcame tothe point."

"Youfool! you ought to have gone inand never comeoutagain" Rebecca said.

"Don'tcall me names" said the big Guardsmansulkily."PerhapsI WAS a foolBeckybut you shouldn't sayso";and he gave his wife a looksuch as his countenancecould wearwhen angeredand such as was not pleasantto face.

"Welldearestto-morrow you must be on the look-outand go andsee hermindwhether she asks you or no"Rebeccasaidtrying to soothe her angry yoke-mate.  Onwhich herepliedthat he would do exactly as he likedand wouldjust thank her to keep a civil tongue in herhead--andthe wounded husband went awayand passedtheforenoon at the billiard-roomsulkysilentandsuspicious.

But beforethe night was over he was compelled togive inand ownas usualto his wife's superior prudenceandforesightby the most melancholy confirmation of thepresentimentswhich she had regarding the consequencesof themistake which he had made.  Miss Crawley musthave hadsome emotion upon seeing him and shakinghands withhim after so long a rupture.  She mused uponthemeeting a considerable time.  "Rawdon is getting veryfat andoldBriggs" she said to her companion.  "Hisnose hasbecome redand he is exceedingly coarse inappearance. His marriage to that woman has hopelesslyvulgarisedhim.  Mrs. Bute always said they drank together;and I haveno doubt they do.  Yes:  he smelt of ginabominably. I remarked it.  Didn't you?"

In vainBriggs interposed that Mrs. Bute spoke ill ofeverybody:andas far as a person in her humble positioncouldjudgewas an--

"Anartful designing woman?  Yesso she isand shedoes speakill of every one--but I am certain that womanhas madeRawdon drink.  All those low people do--"

"Hewas very much affected at seeing youma'am" thecompanionsaid; "and I am surewhen you remember thathe isgoing to the field of danger--"

"Howmuch money has he promised youBriggs?" theoldspinster cried outworking herself into a nervousrage--"therenowof course you begin to cry.  I hatescenes. Why am I always to be worried?  Go and cry up inyour ownroomand send Firkin to me-- nostopsitdown andblow your noseand leave off cryingand writea letterto Captain Crawley." Poor Briggs went andplacedherself obediently at the writing-book.  Its leaveswereblotted all over with relics of the firmstrongrapidhandwritingof the spinster's late amanuensisMrs. ButeCrawley.

"Begin'My dear sir' or 'Dear sir' that will be betterand sayyou are desired by Miss Crawley--noby MissCrawley'smedical manby Mr. Creamerto state thatmy healthis such that all strong emotions would bedangerousin my present delicate condition--and that I mustdeclineany family discussions or interviews whatever.And thankhim for coming to Brightonand so forthandbeg himnot to stay any longer on my account.  AndMissBriggsyou may add that I wish him a bon voyageandthat if hewill take the trouble to call upon my lawyer'sin Gray'sInn Squarehe will find there a communicationfor him. Yesthat will do; and that will make him leaveBrighton."The benevolent Briggs penned this sentencewith theutmost satisfaction.

"Toseize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute wasgone"the old lady prattled on; "it was too indecent.Briggsmydearwrite to Mrs. Crawleyand say SHEneedn'tcome back.  No--she needn't--and she shan't--and Iwon't be a slave in my own house--and I won't bestarvedand choked with poison.  They all want to kill me--all--all"--andwith this the lonely old woman burstinto ascream of hysterical tears.

The lastscene of her dismal Vanity Fair comedy wasfastapproaching; the tawdry lamps were going out oneby one;and the dark curtain was almost ready todescend.

That finalparagraphwhich referred Rawdon to MissCrawley'ssolicitor in Londonand which Briggs hadwritten sogood-naturedlyconsoled the dragoon and hiswifesomewhatafter their first blank disappointmentonreadingthe spinster's refusal of a reconciliation.  And iteffectedthe purpose for which the old lady had caused itto bewrittenby making Rawdon very eager to get toLondon.

Out ofJos's losings and George Osborne's bank-noteshe paidhis bill at the innthe landlord whereof does notprobablyknow to this day how doubtfully his accountoncestood.  Foras a general sends his baggage to therearbefore an actionRebecca had wisely packed up alltheirchief valuables and sent them off under care ofGeorge'sservantwho went in charge of the trunks onthe coachback to London.  Rawdon and his wifereturnedby the same conveyance next day.

"Ishould have liked to see the old girl before we went"Rawdonsaid.  "She looks so cut up and altered that I'msure shecan't last long.  I wonder what sort of a chequeI shallhave at Waxy's.  Two hundred--it can't be lessthan twohundred--heyBecky?"

Inconsequence of the repeated visits of the aides-de-camp ofthe Sheriff of MiddlesexRawdon and his wifedid not goback to their lodgings at Bromptonbut putup at aninn.  Early the next morningRebecca had anopportunityof seeing them as she skirted that suburbon herroad to old Mrs. Sedley's house at Fulhamwhithershe wentto look for her dear Amelia and her Brightonfriends. They were all off to Chathamthence to Harwichto takeshipping for Belgium with the regiment--kind oldMrs. Sedley very much depressed and tearfulsolitary. Returning from this visitRebecca found herhusbandwho had been off to Gray's Innand learnt hisfate. He came back furious.

"ByJoveBecky" says he"she's only given me twentypound!"

Though ittold against themselvesthe joke was toogoodandBecky burst out laughing at Rawdon'sdiscomfiture.

CHAPTERXXVIBetweenLondon and Chatham

Onquitting Brightonour friend Georgeas became aperson ofrank and fashion travelling in a barouche withfourhorsesdrove in state to a fine hotel in CavendishSquarewhere a suite of splendid roomsand a tablemagnificentlyfurnished with plate and surrounded by ahalf-dozenof black and silent waiterswas ready toreceivethe young gentleman and his bride.  George did thehonours ofthe place with a princely air to Jos andDobbin;and Ameliafor the first timeand with exceedingshynessand timiditypresided at what George called herown table.

Georgepooh-poohed the wine and bullied the waitersroyallyand Jos gobbled the turtle with immense satisfaction.Dobbinhelped him to it; for the lady of the housebeforewhom the tureen was placedwas so ignorant ofthecontentsthat she was going to help Mr. Sedley withoutbestowingupon him either calipash or calipee.

Thesplendour of the entertainmentand the apartmentsin whichit was givenalarmed Mr. Dobbinwhoremonstratedafter dinnerwhen Jos was asleep in the greatchair. But in vain he cried out against the enormity ofturtle andchampagne that was fit for an archbishop."I'vealways been accustomed to travel like a gentleman"Georgesaid"anddammemy wife shall travel like alady. As long as there's a shot in the lockershe shallwant fornothing" said the generous fellowquite pleasedwithhimself for his magnificence of spirit.  Nor didDobbin tryand convince him that Amelia's happiness was notcentred inturtle-soup.

A whileafter dinnerAmelia timidly expressed a wishto go andsee her mammaat Fulham: which permissionGeorgegranted her with some grumbling.  And she trippedaway toher enormous bedroomin the centre of whichstood theenormous funereal bed"that the EmperorHalixander'ssister slep in when the allied sufferings washere"and put on her little bonnet and shawl with theutmosteagerness and pleasure.  George was still drinkingclaretwhen she returned to the dining-roomand madeno signsof moving.  "Ar'n't you coming with medearest?"she askedhim.  No; the "dearest" had "business"thatnight.  His man should get her a coach and go withher. And the coach being at the door of the hotelAmeliamadeGeorge a little disappointed curtsey after lookingvainlyinto his face once or twiceand went sadly downthe greatstaircaseCaptain Dobbin afterwho handed herinto thevehicleand saw it drive away to its destination.The veryvalet was ashamed of mentioning the address tothehackney-coachman before the hotel waitersandpromisedto instruct him when they got further on.

Dobbinwalked home to his old quarters and theSlaughters'thinking very likely that it would be delightfulto be inthat hackney-coachalong with Mrs. Osborne.George wasevidently of quite a different taste; for whenhe hadtaken wine enoughhe went off to half-price atthe playto see Mr. Kean perform in Shylock.  CaptainOsbornewas a great lover of the dramaand had himselfperformedhigh-comedy characters with great distinctionin severalgarrison theatrical entertainments.  Jos slept onuntil longafter darkwhen he woke up with a start atthemotions of his servantwho was removing andemptyingthe decanters on the table; and the hackney-coachstand wasagain put into requisition for a carriage toconveythis stout hero to his lodgings and bed.

Mrs.Sedleyyou may be sureclasped her daughter toher heartwith all maternal eagerness and affectionrunningout of the door as the carriage drew up before thelittlegarden-gateto welcome the weepingtremblingyoungbride.  Old Mr. Clappwho was in his shirt-sleevestrimmingthe garden-plotshrank back alarmed.  The Irishservant-lassrushed up from the kitchen and smiled a"Godbless you."  Amelia could hardly walk along theflags andup the steps into the parlour.

How thefloodgates were openedand mother anddaughterweptwhen they were together embracing eachother inthis sanctuarymay readily be imagined by everyreader whopossesses the least sentimental turn.  Whendon'tladies weep?  At what occasion of joysorroworotherbusiness of lifeandafter such an event as amarriagemother and daughter were surely at liberty to giveway to asensibility which is as tender as it is refreshing.About aquestion of marriage I have seen womenwho hateeach other kiss and cry together quite fondly.How muchmore do they feel when they love!  Good mothersaremarried over again at their daughters' weddings:and as forsubsequent eventswho does not know howultra-maternalgrandmothers are?--in fact a womanuntilshe is agrandmotherdoes not often really know what tobe amother is.  Let us respect Amelia and her mammawhisperingand whimpering and laughing and crying intheparlour and the twilight.  Old Mr. Sedley did.  HE hadnotdivined who was in the carriage when it drove up.  Hehad notflown out to meet his daughterthough he kissedher verywarmly when she entered the room (where hewasoccupiedas usualwith his papers and tapes andstatementsof accounts)and after sitting with the motheranddaughter for a short timehe very wisely left thelittleapartment in their possession.

George'svalet was looking on in a very superciliousmanner atMr. Clapp in his shirt-sleeveswatering hisrose-bushes. He took off his hathoweverwith muchcondescensionto Mr. Sedleywho asked news abouthisson-in-lawand about Jos's carriageand whether hishorses hadbeen down to Brightonand about thatinfernaltraitor Bonapartyand the war; until the Irishmaid-servantcame with a plate and a bottle of winefrom whichthe old gentleman insisted upon helping thevalet. He gave him a half-guinea toowhich the servantpocketedwith a mixture of wonder and contempt.  "Tothe healthof your master and mistressTrotter" Mr.Sedleysaid"and here's something to drink your healthwhen youget homeTrotter."

There werebut nine days past since Amelia had leftthatlittle cottage and home--and yet how far off thetimeseemed since she had bidden it farewell.  What agulf laybetween her and that past life.  She could lookback to itfrom her present standing-placeand contemplatealmost asanother beingthe young unmarried girlabsorbedin her lovehaving no eyes but for one specialobjectreceiving parental affection if not ungratefullyat leastindifferentlyand as if it were her due--herwholeheart and thoughts bent on the accomplishment ofonedesire.  The review of those daysso lately gone yetso farawaytouched her with shame; and the aspect ofthe kindparents filled her with tender remorse.  Was theprizegained--the heaven of life--and the winner stilldoubtfuland unsatisfied?  As his hero and heroine passthematrimonial barrierthe novelist generally drops thecurtainas if the drama were over then:  the doubts andstrugglesof life ended:  as ifonce landed in the marriagecountryall were green and pleasant there:  and wifeandhusband had nothing to do but to link each other'sarmstogetherand wander gently downwards towardsold age inhappy and perfect fruition.  But our littleAmelia wasjust on the bank of her new countryand wasalreadylooking anxiously back towards the sad friendlyfigureswaving farewell to her across the streamfrom theotherdistant shore.

In honourof the young bride's arrivalher motherthought itnecessary to prepare I don't know what festiveentertainmentand after the first ebullition of talktookleave ofMrs. George Osborne for a whileand diveddown tothe lower regions of the house to a sort ofkitchen-parlour(occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Clappandin theeveningwhen her dishes were washed and hercurl-papersremovedby Miss Flanniganthe Irish servant)there totake measures for the preparing of a magnificentornamentedtea.  All people have their ways ofexpressingkindnessand it seemed to Mrs. Sedley that amuffin anda quantity of orange marmalade spread outin alittle cut-glass saucer would be peculiarly agreeablerefreshmentsto Amelia in her most interesting situation.

Whilethese delicacies were being transacted belowAmelialeaving the drawing-roomwalked upstairs andfoundherselfshe scarce knew howin the little roomwhich shehad occupied before her marriageand in thatvery chairin which she had passed so many bitter hours.She sankback in its arms as if it were an old friend;and fellto thinking over the past weekand the lifebeyondit.  Already to be looking sadly and vaguely back:always tobe pining for something whichwhen obtainedbroughtdoubt and sadness rather than pleasure; herewas thelot of our poor little creature and harmless lostwandererin the great struggling crowds of Vanity Fair.

Here shesateand recalled to herself fondly that imageof Georgeto which she had knelt before marriage.  Didshe own toherself how different the real man was fromthatsuperb young hero whom she had worshipped?  Itrequiresmanymany years--and a man must be very badindeed--beforea woman's pride and vanity will let herown tosuch a confession.  Then Rebecca's twinklinggreen eyesand baleful smile lighted upon herand filledher withdismay.  And so she sate for awhile indulgingin herusual mood of selfish broodingin that verylistlessmelancholy attitude in which the honest maid-servanthad foundheron the day when she brought up theletter inwhich George renewed his offer of marriage.

She lookedat the little white bedwhich had been hersa few daysbeforeand thought she would like to sleepin it thatnightand wakeas formerlywith her mothersmilingover her in the morning:  Then she thought withterror ofthe great funereal damask pavilion in the vastand dingystate bedroomwhich was awaiting her at thegrandhotel in Cavendish Square.  Dear little white bed!how many along night had she wept on its pillow!How shehad despaired and hoped to die there; and nowwere notall her wishes accomplishedand the lover ofwhom shehad despaired her own for ever?  Kind mother!howpatiently and tenderly she had watched round thatbed! She went and knelt down by the bedside; and therethiswounded and timorousbut gentle and loving soulsought forconsolationwhere as yetit must be ownedour littlegirl had but seldom looked for it.  Love hadbeen herfaith hitherto; and the sadbleeding disappointedheartbegan to feel the want of another consoler.

Have we aright to repeat or to overhear her prayers?Thesebrotherare secretsand out of the domain ofVanityFairin which our story lies.

But thismay be saidthat when the tea was finallyannouncedour young lady came downstairs a great dealmorecheerful; that she did not despondor deplore herfateorthink about George's coldnessor Rebecca's eyesas she hadbeen wont to do of late.  She went downstairsand kissedher father and motherand talked tothe oldgentlemanand made him more merry than hehad beenfor many a day.  She sate down at the pianowhichDobbin had bought for herand sang over all herfather'sfavourite old songs.  She pronounced the tea tobeexcellentand praised the exquisite taste in whichthemarmalade was arranged in the saucers.  And indeterminingto make everybody else happyshe foundherselfso; and was sound asleep in the great funerealpavilionand only woke up with a smile when Georgearrivedfrom the theatre.

For thenext dayGeorge had more important "business"totransact than that which took him to see Mr.Kean inShylock.  Immediately on his arrival in Londonhe hadwritten off to his father's solicitorssignifying hisroyalpleasure that an interview should take place betweenthem onthe morrow.  His hotel billlosses atbilliardsand cards to Captain Crawley had almost drainedthe youngman's pursewhich wanted replenishing beforehe set outon his travelsand he had no resource buttoinfringe upon the two thousand pounds which theattorneyswere commissioned to pay over to him.  Hehad aperfect belief in his own mind that his fatherwouldrelent before very long.  How could any parentbeobdurate for a length of time against such aparagon ashe was?  If his mere past and personal merits didnotsucceed in mollifying his fatherGeorge determinedthat hewould distinguish himself so prodigiously in theensuingcampaign that the old gentleman must give in tohim. And if not?  Bah! the world was before him.  Hisluck mightchange at cardsand there was a deal ofspendingin two thousand pounds.

So he sentoff Amelia once more in a carriage to hermammawith strict orders and carte blanche to the twoladies topurchase everything requisite for a lady of Mrs.GeorgeOsborne's fashionwho was going on a foreigntour. They had but one day to complete the outfitandit may beimagined that their business therefore occupiedthempretty fully.  In a carriage once morebustlingabout frommilliner to linen-draperescorted back to thecarriageby obsequious shopmen or polite ownersMrs.Sedley washerself again almostand sincerely happy forthe firsttime since their misfortunes.  Nor was Mrs.Amelia atall above the pleasure of shoppingandbargainingand seeing and buying pretty things.  (Wouldany manthe most philosophicgive twopence for awoman whowas?)  She gave herself a little treatobedientto her husband's ordersand purchased aquantityof lady's gearshowing a great deal of taste andelegantdiscernmentas all the shopfolks said.

And aboutthe war that was ensuingMrs. Osbornewas notmuch alarmed; Bonaparty was to be crushedalmostwithout a struggle.  Margate packets were sailingevery dayfilled with men of fashion and ladies of noteon theirway to Brussels and Ghent.  People were goingnot somuch to a war as to a fashionable tour.  Thenewspaperslaughed the wretched upstart and swindler toscorn. Such a Corsican wretch as that withstand thearmies ofEurope and the genius of the immortalWellington! Amelia held him in utter contempt; for it needsnot to besaid that this soft and gentle creature took heropinionsfrom those people who surrounded hersuchfidelitybeing much too humble-minded to think for itself.Wellin awordshe and her mother performed agreatday's shoppingand she acquitted herself withconsiderableliveliness and credit on this her firstappearancein the genteel world of London.

Georgemeanwhilewith his hat on one sidehis elbowssquaredand his swaggering martial airmade forBedfordRowand stalked into the attorney's offices as ifhe waslord of every pale-faced clerk who was scribblingthere. He ordered somebody to inform Mr. Higgs thatCaptainOsborne was waitingin a fierce and patronizingwayas ifthe pekin of an attorneywho had thrice hisbrainsfifty times his moneyand a thousand times hisexperiencewas a wretched underling who shouldinstantlyleave all his business in life to attend on theCaptain'spleasure.  He did not see the sneer of contemptwhichpassed all round the roomfrom the firstclerk tothe articled gentsfrom the articled gents to theraggedwriters and white-faced runnersin clothes tootight forthemas he sate there tapping his boot with hiscaneandthinking what a parcel of miserable poor devilsthesewere.  The miserable poor devils knew all about hisaffairs. They talked about them over their pints of beerat theirpublic-house clubs to other clerks of a night.Ye godswhat do not attorneys and attorneys' clerksknow inLondon!  Nothing is hidden from theirinquisitionand their families mutely rule our city.

PerhapsGeorge expectedwhen he entered Mr. Higgs'sapartmentto find that gentleman commissioned to givehim somemessage of compromise or conciliation fromhisfather; perhaps his haughty and cold demeanourwasadopted as a sign of his spirit and resolution:  but ifsohisfierceness was met by a chilling coolness andindifferenceon the attorney's partthat renderedswaggeringabsurd.  He pretended to be writing at a paperwhen theCaptain entered.  "Praysit downsir" said he"andI will attend to your little affair in a moment.  Mr.Poegetthe release papersif you please"; and then hefell towriting again.

Poe havingproduced those papershis chief calculatedthe amountof two thousand pounds stock at the rate ofthe day;and asked Captain Osborne whether he wouldtake thesum in a cheque upon the bankersor whetherhe shoulddirect the latter to purchase stock to thatamount. "One of the late Mrs. Osborne's trustees is outof town"he said indifferently"but my client wishes tomeet yourwishesand have done with the business asquick aspossible."

"Giveme a chequesir" said the Captain very surlily."Damnthe shillings and halfpencesir" he addedas thelawyer wasmaking out the amount of the draft; andflatteringhimself that by this stroke of magnanimity hehad putthe old quiz to the blushhe stalked out ofthe officewith the paper in his pocket.

"Thatchap will be in gaol in two years" Mr. Higgs saidto Mr.Poe.

"Won'tO. come roundsirdon't you think?"

"Won'tthe monument come round" Mr. Higgs replied.

"He'sgoing it pretty fast" said the clerk.  "He's onlymarried aweekand I saw him and some other militarychapshanding Mrs. Highflyer to her carriage after theplay."And then another case was calledand Mr. GeorgeOsbornethenceforth dismissed from these worthygentlemen'smemory.

The draftwas upon our friends Hulker and Bullock ofLombardStreetto whose housestill thinking he wasdoingbusinessGeorge bent his wayand from whom hereceivedhis money.  Frederick BullockEsq.whoseyellowface was over a ledgerat which sate a demure clerkhappenedto be in the banking-room when George entered.His yellowface turned to a more deadly colourwhen hesaw the Captainand he slunk back guiltily intothe inmostparlour.  George was too busy gloating overthe money(for he had never had such a sum before)tomark thecountenance or flight of the cadaverous suitorof hissister.

FredBullock told old Osborne of his son's appearanceandconduct.  "He came in as bold as brass" saidFrederick. "He has drawn out every shilling.  How longwill a fewhundred pounds last such a chap as that?"Osborneswore with a great oath that he little cared when orhow soonhe spent it.  Fred dined every day in RussellSquarenow.  But altogetherGeorge was highly pleasedwith hisday's business.  All his own baggage and outfitwas putinto a state of speedy preparationand he paidAmelia'spurchases with cheques on his agentsand withthesplendour of a lord.

CHAPTERXXVIIInWhich Amelia Joins Her Regiment

When Jos'sfine carriage drove up to the inn door atChathamthe first face which Amelia recognized was thefriendlycountenance of Captain Dobbinwho had beenpacing thestreet for an hour past in expectation of hisfriends'arrival.  The Captainwith shells on his frockcoatand acrimson sash and sabrepresented a militaryappearancewhich made Jos quite proud to be able toclaim suchan acquaintanceand the stout civilian hailedhim with acordiality very different from the receptionwhich Josvouchsafed to his friend in Brighton and BondStreet.

Along withthe Captain was Ensign Stubble; whoasthebarouche neared the innburst out with an exclamationof "ByJove! what a pretty girl"; highly applaudingOsborne'schoice.  IndeedAmelia dressed in her wedding-pelisseand pink ribbonswith a flush in her faceoccasionedby rapid travel through the open airlooked sofresh andprettyas fully to justify the Ensign's compliment.Dobbinliked him for making it.  As he stepped forwardto helpthe lady out of the carriageStubble sawwhat apretty little hand she gave himand what a sweetprettylittle foot came tripping down the step.  He blushedprofuselyand made the very best bow of which he wascapable;to which Ameliaseeing the number of the theregimentembroidered on the Ensign's capreplied with ablushingsmileand a curtsey on her part; which finishedthe youngEnsign on the spot.  Dobbin took most kindly toMr.Stubble from that dayand encouraged him to talkaboutAmelia in their private walksand at each other'squarters. It became the fashionindeedamong all thehonestyoung fellows of the --th to adore and admireMrs.Osborne.  Her simple artless behaviourandmodestkindness of demeanourwon all their unsophisticatedhearts;all which simplicity and sweetness are quiteimpossibleto describe in print.  But who has not beheldtheseamong womenand recognised the presence of allsorts ofqualities in themeven though they say no moreto youthan that they are engaged to dance the nextquadrilleor that it is very hot weather?  Georgealways thechampionof his regimentrose immensely in the opinionof theyouth of the corpsby his gallantry in marrying thisportionlessyoung creatureand by his choice of such aprettykind partner.

In thesitting-room which was awaiting the travellersAmeliatoher surprisefound a letter addressed to Mrs.CaptainOsborne.  It was a triangular billeton pink paperand sealedwith a dove and an olive branchand aprofusionof light blue sealing waxand it was written ina verylargethough undecided female hand.

"It'sPeggy O'Dowd's fist" said Georgelaughing.  "Iknow it bythe kisses on the seal." And in factit was anote fromMrs. Major O'Dowdrequesting the pleasureof Mrs.Osborne's company that very evening to a smallfriendlyparty.  "You must go" George said.  "Youwillmakeacquaintance with the regiment there.  O'Dowd goesin commandof the regimentand Peggy goes in command

But theyhad not been for many minutes in the enjoymentof Mrs.O'Dowd's letterwhen the door was flungopenanda stout jolly ladyin a riding-habitfollowed bya coupleof officers of Oursentered the room.

"SureI couldn't stop till tay-time.  Present meGargemy dearfellowto your lady.  MadamI'm deloighted tosee ye;and to present to you me husbandMeejorO'Dowd";and with thisthe jolly lady in the riding-habitgraspedAmelia's hand very warmlyand the latter knewat oncethat the lady was before her whom her husbandhad sooften laughed at.  "You've often heard of me fromthathusband of yours" said the ladywith great vivacity.

"You'veoften heard of her" echoed her husbandtheMajor.

Ameliaansweredsmiling"that she had."

"Andsmall good he's told you of me" Mrs. O'Dowdreplied;adding that "George was a wicked divvle."

"ThatI'll go bail for" said the Majortrying to lookknowingat which George laughed; and Mrs. O'Dowdwith a tapof her whiptold the Major to be quiet; andthenrequested to be presented in form to Mrs. CaptainOsborne.

"Thismy dear" said George with great gravity"is myvery goodkindand excellent friendAuralia Margarettaotherwisecalled Peggy."

"Faithyou're right" interposed the Major.

"Otherwisecalled Peggylady of Major MichaelO'Dowdofour regimentand daughter of FitzjurldBer'sfordde Burgo Malony of GlenmalonyCounty Kildare."

"AndMuryan SqueerDoblin" said the lady with calmsuperiority.

"AndMuryan Squaresure enough" the Majorwhispered.

"'Twasthere ye coorted meMeejor dear" the ladysaid; andthe Major assented to this as to every otherpropositionwhich was made generally in company.

MajorO'Dowdwho had served his sovereign in everyquarter ofthe worldand had paid for every step in hisprofessionby some more than equivalent act of daringandgallantrywas the most modestsilentsheep-facedand meekof little menand as obedient to his wife as ifhe hadbeen her tay-boy.  At the mess-table he sat silentlyand dranka great deal.  When full of liquorhereeledsilently home.  When he spokeit was to agree witheverybodyon every conceivable point; and he passedthroughlife in perfect ease and good-humour.  Thehottestsuns of India never heated his temper; and theWalcherenague never shook it.  He walked up to a batterywith justas much indifference as to a dinner-table; haddined onhorse-flesh and turtle with equal relish andappetite;and had an old motherMrs. O'Dowd ofO'Dowdstownindeedwhom he had never disobeyedbut whenhe ran away and enlistedand when he persistedinmarrying that odious Peggy Malony.

Peggy wasone of five sistersand eleven children of thenoblehouse of Glenmalony; but her husbandthough herowncousinwas of the mother's sideand so had not theinestimableadvantage of being allied to the Malonyswhom shebelieved to be the most famous family in theworld. Having tried nine seasons at Dublin and two atBath andCheltenhamand not finding a partner for lifeMissMalony ordered her cousin Mick to marry her whenshe wasabout thirty-three years of age; and the honestfellowobeyingcarried her off to the West Indiestopresideover the ladies of the --th regimentinto which hehad justexchanged.

BeforeMrs. O'Dowd was half an hour in Amelia's (orindeed inanybody else's) companythis amiable lady toldall herbirth and pedigree to her new friend.  "My dear"said shegood-naturedly"it was my intention that Gargeshould bea brother of my ownand my sister Glorvinawould havesuited him entirely.  But as bygones arebygonesand he was engaged to yourselfwhyI'mdeterminedto take you as a sister insteadand to look uponyou assuchand to love you as one of the family.  Faithyou've gotsuch a nice good-natured face and way widgyouthatI'm sure we'll agree; and that you'll be anadditionto our family anyway."

"'Deedand she will" said O'Dowdwith an approvingairandAmelia felt herself not a little amused andgratefulto be thus suddenly introduced to so large aparty ofrelations.

"We'reall good fellows here" the Major's lady continued."There'snot a regiment in the service where you'llfind amore united society nor a more agreeable mess-room. There's no quarrellingbickeringslandtheringnorsmall talkamongst us.  We all love each other."

"EspeciallyMrs. Magenis" said Georgelaughing.

"Mrs.Captain Magenis and me has made upthoughhertreatment of me would bring me gray hairs withsorrow tothe grave."

"Andyou with such a beautiful front of blackPeggymy dear"the Major cried.

"Houldyour tongueMickyou booby.  Them husbandsare alwaysin the wayMrs. Osbornemy dear; and asfor myMickI often tell him he should never open hismouth butto give the word of commandor to put meatand drinkinto it.  I'll tell you about the regimentandwarn youwhen we're alone.  Introduce me to your brothernow; surehe's a mighty fine manand reminds me of mecousinDan Malony (Malony of Ballymalonymy dearyou knowwho mar'ied Ophalia Scullyof Oystherstownown cousinto Lord Poldoody).  Mr. SedleysirI'mdeloightedto be made known te ye.  I suppose you'll dineat themess to-day.  (Mind that divvle of a doctherMickandwhatever ye dukeep yourself sober for me partythisevening.)"

"It'sthe 150th gives us a farewell dinnermy love"interposedthe Major"but we'll easy get a card for Mr.Sedley."

"RunSimple (Ensign Simpleof Oursmy dear Amelia.I forgotto introjuice him to ye).  Run in a hurrywithMrs. MajorO'Dowd's compliments to Colonel TavishandCaptain Osborne has brought his brothernlaw downand willbring him to the 150th mess at five o'clock sharp--when youand Imy dearwill take a snack hereif youlike." Before Mrs. O'Dowd's speech was concludedtheyoungEnsign was trotting downstairs on his commission.

"Obedienceis the soul of the army.  We will go to ourduty whileMrs. O'Dowd will stay and enlighten youEmmy"Captain Osborne said; and the two gentlementakingeach a wing of the Majorwalked out with thatofficergrinning at each other over his head.

Andnowhaving her new friend to herselfthe impetuousMrs:O'Dowd proceeded to pour out such aquantityof information as no poor little woman's memorycould evertax itself to bear.  She told Amelia a thousandparticularsrelative to the very numerous family of whichthe amazedyoung lady found herself a member.  "Mrs.Heavytopthe Colonel's wifedied in Jamaica of theyellowfaver and a broken heart comboinedfor the horrudoldColonelwith a head as bald as a cannon-ballwasmakingsheep's eyes at a half-caste girl there.  Mrs.Magenisthough without educationwas a good womanbut shehad the divvle's tongueand would cheat her ownmother atwhist.  Mrs. Captain Kirk must turn up herlobstereyes forsooth at the idea of an honest round game(whereinme fawtheras pious a man as ever went tochurchmeuncle Dane Malonyand our cousin theBishoptook a hand at looor whistevery night of theirlives). Nayther of 'em's goin' with the regiment this time"Mrs.O'Dowd added.  "Fanny Magenis stops with hermotherwho sells small coal and potatoesmost likelyinIslington-townhard by Londonthough she's alwaysbraggingof her father's shipsand pointing them out to usas they goup the river:  and Mrs. Kirk and her childrenwill stophere in Bethesda Placeto be nigh to her favouritepreacherDr. Ramshorn.  Mrs. Bunny's in an interestingsituation--faithand she always isthen--and hasgiven theLieutenant seven already.  And Ensign Posky'swifewhojoined two months before youmy dearhasquarl'dwith Tom Posky a score of timestill you canhear'm allover the bar'ck (they say they're come tobrokenpleetsand Tom never accounted for his black oi)and she'llgo back to her motherwho keeps a ladies'siminaryat Richmond--bad luck to her for running awayfrom it! Where did ye get your finishingmy dear?  I hadmoinandno expince sparedat Madame Flanahan'satIlyssusGroveBooterstownnear Dublinwid a Marchionessto teachus the true Parisian pronunciationand a retiredMejor-Generalof the French service to put usthroughthe exercise."

Of thisincongruous family our astonished Amelia foundherselfall of a sudden a member:  with Mrs. O'Dowd asan eldersister.  She was presented to her other femalerelationsat tea-timeon whomas she was quietgood-naturedand not too handsomeshe made rather anagreeableimpression until the arrival of the gentlemen fromthe messof the 150thwho all admired her sothat hersistersbeganof courseto find fault with her.

"Ihope Osborne has sown his wild oats" said Mrs.Magenis toMrs. Bunny.  "If a reformed rake makes agoodhusbandsure it's she will have the fine chance withGarge"Mrs. O'Dowd remarked to Poskywho had lostherposition as bride in the regimentand was quite angrywith theusurper.  And as for Mrs. Kirk:  that disciple ofDr.Ramshorn put one or two leading professionalquestionsto Ameliato see whether she was awakenedwhethershe was a professing Christian and so forthandfindingfrom the simplicity of Mrs. Osborne's replies thatshe wasyet in utter darknessput into her hands threelittlepenny books with picturesviz.the "HowlingWilderness"the "Washerwoman of Wandsworth Common"and the"British Soldier's best Bayonet" whichbent uponawakeningher before she sleptMrs. Kirk begged Ameliato readthat night ere she went to bed.

But allthe menlike good fellows as they wereralliedroundtheir comrade's pretty wifeand paid her theircourt withsoldierly gallantry.  She had a little triumphwhichflushed her spirits and made her eyes sparkle.George wasproud of her popularityand pleased with themanner(which was very gay and gracefulthough naiveand alittle timid) with which she received the gentlemen's attentionsandanswered their compliments.  Andhe in hisuniform--how much handsomer he was thanany man inthe room!  She felt that he was affectionatelywatchingherand glowed with pleasure at his kindness.  "Iwill makeall his friends welcome" she resolved in herheart. "I will love all as I love him.  I will always try andbe gay andgood-humoured and make his home happy."

Theregiment indeed adopted her with acclamation.TheCaptains approvedthe Lieutenants applaudedtheEnsignsadmired.  Old Cutlerthe Doctormade one ortwo jokeswhichbeing professionalneed not be repeated;andCacklethe Assistant M.D. of Edinburghcondescendedto examineher upon leeteratureand tried herwith histhree best French quotations.  Young Stubble wentabout fromman to man whispering"Joveisn't she aprettygal?" and never took his eyes off her except whenthe neguscame in.

As forCaptain Dobbinhe never so much as spoke toher duringthe whole evening.  But he and Captain Porterof thel50th took home Jos to the hotelwho was in averymaudlin stateand had told his tiger-hunt story withgreateffectboth at the mess-table and at the soireetoMrs.O'Dowd in her turban and bird of paradise.  Havingput theCollector into the hands of his servantDobbinloiteredaboutsmoking his cigar before the inn door.George hadmeanwhile very carefully shawled his wifeandbrought her away from Mrs. O'Dowd's after a generalhandshakingfrom the young officerswho accompaniedher to theflyand cheered that vehicle as it drove off.  SoAmeliagave Dobbin her little hand as she got out of thecarriageand rebuked him smilingly for not having takenany noticeof her all night.

TheCaptain continued that deleterious amusement ofsmokinglong after the inn and the street were gone tobed. He watched the lights vanish from George's sitting-roomwindowsand shine out in the bedroom close athand. It was almost morning when he returned to his ownquarters. He could hear the cheering from the ships inthe riverwhere the transports were already taking intheircargoes preparatory to dropping down the Thames.

CHAPTERXVIIIInWhich Amelia Invades the Low Countries

Theregiment with its officers was to be transported inshipsprovided by His Majesty's government for theoccasion: and in two days after the festive assembly at Mrs.O'Dowd'sapartmentsin the midst of cheering from allthe EastIndia ships in the riverand the military on shorethe bandplaying "God Save the King" the officers wavingtheirhatsand the crews hurrahing gallantlythe transportswent downthe river and proceeded under convoy toOstend. Meanwhile the gallant Jos had agreed to escorthis sisterand the Major's wifethe bulk of whose goodsandchattelsincluding the famous bird of paradise andturbanwere with the regimental baggage: so that ourtwoheroines drove pretty much unencumbered toRamsgatewhere there were plenty of packets plyinginone ofwhich they had a speedy passage to Ostend.

Thatperiod of Jos's life which now ensued was so fullofincidentthat it served him for conversation formany yearsafterand even the tiger-hunt story was putaside formore stirring narratives which he had to tellabout thegreat campaign of Waterloo.  As soon as hehad agreedto escort his sister abroadit was remarkedthat heceased shaving his upper lip.  At Chatham hefollowedthe parades and drills with great assiduity.  Helistenedwith the utmost attention to the conversation ofhisbrother officers (as he called them in after dayssometimes)and learned as many military names as he could.In thesestudies the excellent Mrs. O'Dowd was of greatassistanceto him; and on the day finally when theyembarkedon board the Lovely Rosewhich was to carrythem totheir destinationhe made his appearance in abraidedfrock-coat and duck trouserswith a foragingcapornamented with a smart gold band.  Having hiscarriagewith himand informing everybody on boardconfidentiallythat he was going to join the Duke ofWellington'sarmyfolks mistook him for a great personageacommissary-generalor a government courier at the veryleast.

Hesuffered hugely on the voyageduring which theladieswere likewise prostrate; but Amelia was brought tolife againas the packet made Ostendby the sight ofthetransports conveying her regimentwhich entered theharbouralmost at the same time with the Lovely Rose.Jos wentin a collapsed state to an innwhile CaptainDobbinescorted the ladiesand then busied himself infreeingJos's carriage and luggage from the ship and thecustom-housefor Mr. Jos was at present without aservantOsborne's man and his own pampered menialhavingconspired together at Chathamand refused point-blank tocross the water.  This revoltwhich came verysuddenlyand on the last dayso alarmed Mr. Sedleyjuniorthat he was on the point of giving up the expeditionbutCaptain Dobbin (who made himself immenselyofficiousin the businessJos said)rated him andlaughed athim soundly:  the mustachios were grown inadvanceand Jos finally was persuaded to embark.  Inplace ofthe well-bred and well-fed London domesticswho couldonly speak EnglishDobbin procured for Jos'sparty aswarthy little Belgian servant who could speaknolanguage at all; but whoby his bustling behaviourand byinvariably addressing Mr. Sedley as "My lord"speedilyacquired that gentleman's favour.  Times arealtered atOstend now; of the Britons who go thithervery fewlook like lordsor act like those members ofourhereditary aristocracy.  They seem for the most partshabby inattiredingy of linenlovers of billiards andbrandyand cigars and greasy ordinaries.

But it maybe said as a rulethat every Englishmanin theDuke of Wellington's army paid his way.  Theremembranceof such a fact surely becomes a nation ofshopkeepers. It was a blessing for a commerce-lovingcountry tobe overrun by such an army of customers:and tohave such creditable warriors to feed.  And thecountrywhich they came to protect is not military.  Fora longperiod of history they have let other people fightthere. When the present writer went to survey with eagleglance thefield of Waterloowe asked the conductor ofthediligencea portly warlike-looking veteranwhetherhe hadbeen at the battle.  "Pas si bete"--such ananswer andsentiment as no Frenchman would own to--was hisreply.  Buton the other handthe postilionwho droveus was a Viscounta son of some bankruptImperialGeneralwho accepted a pennyworth of beeron theroad.  The moral is surely a good one.

This flatflourishingeasy country never could havelookedmore rich and prosperous than in that openingsummer of1815when its green fields and quiet citieswereenlivened by multiplied red-coats: when its widechausseesswarmed with brilliant English equipages:when itsgreat canal-boatsgliding by rich pastures andpleasantquaint old villagesby old chateaux lyingamongstold treeswere all crowded with well-to-do English travellers:when thesoldier who drank at the villageinnnotonly drankbut paid his score; and DonaldtheHighlanderbilleted in the Flemish farm-houserocked thebaby's cradlewhile Jean and Jeannette wereoutgetting in the hay.  As our painters are bent on militarysubjectsjust nowI throw out this as a good subjectfor thepencilto illustrate the principle of an honestEnglishwar.  All looked as brilliant and harmless as aHyde Parkreview.  MeanwhileNapoleon screened behindhiscurtain of frontier-fortresseswas preparing fortheoutbreak which was to drive all these orderly peopleinto furyand blood; and lay so many of them low.

Everybodyhad such a perfect feeling of confidencein theleader (for the resolute faith which the Duke ofWellingtonhad inspired in the whole English nation wasas intenseas that more frantic enthusiasm with whichat onetime the French regarded Napoleon)the countryseemed inso perfect a state of orderly defenceand thehelp athand in case of need so near and overwhelmingthat alarmwas unknownand our travellersamongwhom twowere naturally of a very timid sortwerelike allthe other multiplied English touristsentirely atease. The famous regimentwith so many of whoseofficerswe have made acquaintancewas drafted in canalboats toBruges and Ghentthence to march to Brussels.Josaccompanied the ladies in the public boats; the whichall oldtravellers in Flanders must remember for theluxury andaccommodation they afforded.  So prodigiouslygood wasthe eating and drinking on board thesesluggishbut most comfortable vesselsthat there are legendsextant ofan English travellerwhocoming to Belgiumfor aweekand travelling in one of these boatswas sodelightedwith the fare there that he went backwardsandforwards from Ghent to Bruges perpetually until therailroadswere inventedwhen he drowned himself on thelast tripof the passage-boat.  Jos's death was not to beof thissortbut his comfort was exceedingand Mrs.O'Dowdinsisted that he only wanted her sister Glorvinato makehis happiness complete.  He sate on the roofof thecabin all day drinking Flemish beershouting forIsidorhis servantand talking gallantly to the ladies.

Hiscourage was prodigious.  "Boney attack us!" hecried. "My dear creaturemy poor Emmydon't befrightened. There's no danger.  The allies will be in Parisin twomonthsI tell you; when I'll take you to dinein thePalais Royalby Jove!  There are three hundredthousandRooshiansI tell younow entering France byMayenceand the Rhine--three hundred thousand underWittgensteinand Barclay de Tollymy poor love.  Youdon't knowmilitary affairsmy dear.  I doand I tellyouthere's no infantry in France can stand againstRooshianinfantryand no general of Boney's that's fitto hold acandle to Wittgenstein.  Then there are theAustriansthey are five hundred thousand if a manandthey arewithin ten marches of the frontier by this timeunderSchwartzenberg and Prince Charles.  Then there aretheProoshians under the gallant Prince Marshal.  Showme acavalry chief like him now that Murat is gone.HeyMrs.O'Dowd?  Do you think our little girl hereneed beafraid?  Is there any cause for fearIsidor?  Heysir? Get some more beer."

Mrs.O'Dowd said that her "Glorvina was not afraidof any manalivelet alone a Frenchman" and tossedoff aglass of beer with a wink which expressed herliking forthe beverage.

Havingfrequently been in presence of the enemyorin otherwordsfaced the ladies at Cheltenham and Bathourfriendthe Collectorhad lost a great deal of hispristinetimidityand was nowespecially when fortifiedwithliquoras talkative as might be.  He was rather afavouritewith the regimenttreating the young officerswithsumptuosityand amusing them by his military airs.And asthere is one well-known regiment of the armywhichtravels with a goat heading the columnwhilstanother isled by a deerGeorge said with respect to hisbrother-in-lawthat his regiment marched with anelephant.

SinceAmelia's introduction to the regimentGeorgebegan tobe rather ashamed of some of the company towhich hehad been forced to present her; and determinedas he toldDobbin (with what satisfaction to the latterit neednot be said)to exchange into some better regimentsoonandto get his wife away from those damnedvulgarwomen.  But this vulgarity of being ashamed ofone'ssociety is much more common among men thanwomen(except very great ladies of fashionwhoto besureindulge in it); and Mrs. Ameliaa natural andunaffectedpersonhad none of that artificial shamefacednesswhich herhusband mistook for delicacy on his ownpart. Thus Mrs. O'Dowd had a cock's plume in her hatand a verylarge "repayther" on her stomachwhich sheused toring on all occasionsnarrating how it had beenpresentedto her by her fawtheras she stipt into thecar'geafter her mar'ge; and these ornamentswith otheroutwardpeculiarities of the Major's wifegave excruciatingagonies toCaptain Osbornewhen his wife and theMajor'scame in contact; whereas Amelia was onlyamused bythe honest lady's eccentricitiesand not inthe leastashamed of her company.

As theymade that well-known journeywhich almosteveryEnglishman of middle rank has travelled sincetheremight have been more instructivebut few moreentertainingcompanions than Mrs. Major O'Dowd.  "Talkaboutkenal boats; my dear!  Ye should see the kenalboatsbetween Dublin and Ballinasloe.  It's there the rapidtravellingis; and the beautiful cattle.  Sure me fawthergot agoold medal (and his Excellency himself eat a sliceof itandsaid never was finer mate in his loif) for afour-year-oldheiferthe like of which ye never saw inthiscountry any day." And Jos owned with a sigh"thatfor goodstreaky beefreally mingled with fat and leanthere wasno country like England."

"ExceptIrelandwhere all your best mate comes from"said theMajor's lady; proceedingas is not unusual withpatriotsof her nationto make comparisons greatly infavour ofher own country.  The idea of comparing themarket atBruges with those of Dublinalthough she hadsuggestedit herselfcaused immense scorn and derisionon herpart.  "I'll thank ye tell me what they mean bythat oldgazabo on the top of the market-place" saidshein aburst of ridicule fit to have brought the oldtowerdown.  The place was full of English soldiery astheypassed.  English bugles woke them in the morning;atnightfall they went to bed to the note of the Britishfife anddrum:  all the country and Europe was in armsand thegreatest event of history pending:  and honestPeggyO'Dowdwhom it concerned as well as anotherwent onprattling about Ballinafadand the horses in thestables atGlenmalonyand the clar't drunk there; andJos Sedleyinterposed about curry and rice at Dumdum;and Ameliathought about her husbandand how bestshe shouldshow her love for him; as if these werethe greattopics of the world.

Those wholike to lay down the History-bookand tospeculateupon what MIGHT have happened in the worldbut forthe fatal occurrence of what actually did takeplace (amost puzzlingamusingingeniousand profitablekind ofmeditation)have no doubt often thought tothemselveswhat a specially bad time Napoleon took tocome backfrom Elbaand to let loose his eagle fromGulf SanJuan to Notre Dame.  The historians on ourside tellus that the armies of the allied powers wereallprovidentially on a war-footingand ready to beardown at amoment's notice upon the Elban Emperor.The augustjobbers assembled at Viennaand carvingout thekingdoms of Europe according to their wisdomhad suchcauses of quarrel among themselves as mighthave setthe armies which had overcome Napoleon tofightagainst each otherbut for the return of the objectofunanimous hatred and fear.  This monarch had an armyin fullforce because he had jobbed to himself Polandand wasdetermined to keep it:  another had robbed halfSaxonyand was bent upon maintaining his acquisition:Italy wasthe object of a third's solicitude.  Each wasprotestingagainst the rapacity of the other; and could theCorsicanbut have waited in prison until all these partieswere bythe earshe might have returned and reignedunmolested. But what would have become of our storyand allour friendsthen?  If all the drops in it were driedupwhatwould become of the sea?

In themeanwhile the business of life and livingandthepursuits of pleasureespeciallywent on as if no endwere to beexpected to themand no enemy in front.When ourtravellers arrived at Brusselsin which theirregimentwas quartereda great piece of good fortuneas allsaidthey found themselves in one of the gayestand mostbrilliant little capitals in Europeand whereall theVanity Fair booths were laid out with the mosttemptingliveliness and splendour.  Gambling was here inprofusionand dancing in plenty:  feasting was there tofill withdelight that great gourmand of a Jos:  therewas atheatre where a miraculous Catalani was delightingallhearers:  beautiful ridesall enlivened with martialsplendour;a rare old citywith strange costumes andwonderfularchitectureto delight the eyes of little Ameliawho hadnever before seen a foreign countryand fillher withcharming surprises: so that now and for a fewweeks'space in a fine handsome lodgingwhereof theexpenseswere borne by Jos and Osbornewho was flushof moneyand full of kind attentions to his wife--forabout afortnightI sayduring which her honeymoonendedMrs. Amelia was as pleased and happy as anylittlebride out of England.

Every dayduring this happy time there was noveltyandamusement for all parties.  There was a church toseeor apicture-gallery--there was a rideor an opera.The bandsof the regiments were making music at allhours. The greatest folks of England walked in the Park--therewas a perpetual military festival.  Georgetakingout hiswife to a new jaunt or junket every nightwasquitepleased with himself as usualand swore he wasbecomingquite a domestic character.  And a jaunt ora junketwith HIM!  Was it not enough to set this littleheartbeating with joy?  Her letters home to her motherwerefilled with delight and gratitude at this season.  Herhusbandbade her buy lacesmillineryjewelsandgimcracksof all sorts.  Ohhe was the kindestbestandmostgenerous of men!

The sightof the very great company of lords and ladiesandfashionable persons who thronged the townandappearedin every public placefilled George's truly Britishsoul withintense delight.  They flung off that happyfrigidityand insolence of demeanour which occasionallycharacterisesthe great at homeand appearing innumberlesspublic placescondescended to mingle with therest ofthe company whom they met there.  One nightat a partygiven by the general of the division to whichGeorge'sregiment belongedhe had the honour of dancingwith LadyBlanche ThistlewoodLord Bareacres'daughter;he bustled for ices and refreshments for thetwo nobleladies; he pushed and squeezed for LadyBareacres'carriage; he bragged about the Countess whenhe gothomein a way which his own father could nothavesurpassed.  He called upon the ladies the next day;he rode bytheir side in the Park; he asked their partyto a greatdinner at a restaurateur'sand was quitewild withexultation when they agreed to come.  OldBareacreswho had not much pride and a large appetitewould gofor a dinner anywhere.

"I.hopethere will be no women besides our ownparty"Lady Bareacres saidafter reflecting upon theinvitationwhich had been madeand accepted with toomuchprecipitancy.

"GraciousHeavenMamma--you don't suppose theman wouldbring his wife" shrieked Lady Blanchewhohad beenlanguishing in George's arms in the newlyimportedwaltz for hours the night before.  "The men arebearablebut their women--"

"Wifejust marrieddev'lish pretty womanI hear"the oldEarl said.

"Wellmy dear Blanche" said the mother"I supposeas Papawants to gowe must go; but we needn't knowthem inEnglandyou know." And sodetermined to cuttheir newacquaintance in Bond Streetthese great folkswent toeat his dinner at Brusselsand condescending tomake himpay for their pleasureshowed their dignityby makinghis wife uncomfortableand carefully excludingher fromthe conversation.  This is a species of dignityin whichthe high-bred British female reigns supreme.  Towatch thebehaviour of a fine lady to other and humblerwomenisa very good sport for a philosophical frequenterof VanityFair.

Thisfestivalon which honest George spent a greatdeal ofmoneywas the very dismallest of all theentertainmentswhich Amelia had in her honeymoon.  Shewrote themost piteous accounts of the feast home tohermamma:  how the Countess of Bareacres would notanswerwhen spoken to; how Lady Blanche stared at herwith hereye-glass; and what a rage Captain Dobbin wasin attheir behaviour; and how my lordas they cameaway fromthe feastasked to see the billand pronouncedit a d--bad dinnerand d-- dear.  But though Ameliatold allthese storiesand wrote home regardingherguests' rudenessand her own discomfitureold Mrs.Sedley was mightily pleased neverthelessand talkedabout Emmy's friendthe Countess ofBareacreswith such assiduity that the news how his sonwasentertaining peers and peeresses actually came toOsborne'sears in the City.

Those whoknow the present Lieutenant-General SirGeorgeTuftoK.C.B.and have seen himas they mayon mostdays in the seasonpadded and in staysstruttingdown PallMall with a rickety swagger on his high-heeledlacqueredbootsleering under the bonnets of passers-byorriding a showy chestnutand ogling broughams intheParks--those who know the present Sir George Tuftowouldhardly recognise the daring Peninsular and Waterlooofficer. He has thick curling brown hair and blackeyebrowsnowand his whiskers are of the deepestpurple. He was light-haired and bald in 1815and stouterin theperson and in the limbswhich especially haveshrunkvery much of late.  When he was about seventyyears ofage (he is now nearly eighty)his hairwhichwas veryscarce and quite whitesuddenly grew thickand brownand curlyand his whiskers and eyebrowstook theirpresent colour.  Ill-natured people say thathis chestis all wooland that his hairbecause it nevergrowsisa wig.  Tom Tuftowith whose father he quarrelledever somany years agodeclares that Mademoisellede Jaiseyof the French theatrepulled hisgrandpapa'shair off in the green-room; but Tom isnotoriouslyspiteful and jealous; and the General's wig hasnothing todo with our story.

One dayas some of our friends of the --th weresaunteringin the flower-market of Brusselshaving beento see theHotel de Villewhich Mrs. Major O'Dowddeclaredwas not near so large or handsome as herfawther'smansion of Glenmalonyan officer of rankwithan orderlybehind himrode up to the marketanddescendingfrom his horsecame amongst the flowersandselectedthe very finest bouquet which money could buy.Thebeautiful bundle being tied up in a paperthe officerremountedgiving the nosegay into the charge of hismilitarygroomwho carried it with a grinfollowing hischiefwhorode away in great state and self-satisfaction.

"Youshould see the flowers at Glenmalony" Mrs.O'Dowd wasremarking.  "Me fawther has three Scotchgarnerswith nine helpers.  We have an acre of hot-housesand pinesas common as pays in the sayson.  Our greepsweighs sixpounds every bunch of 'emand upon mehonour andconscience I think our magnolias is as bigastaykettles."

Dobbinwho never used to "draw out" Mrs. O'Dowdas thatwicked Osborne delighted in doing (much toAmelia'sterrorwho implored him to spare her)fellback inthe crowdcrowing and sputtering until hereached asafe distancewhen he exploded amongst theastonishedmarket-people with shrieks of yelling laughter.

"Hwhat'sthat gawky guggling about?" said Mrs.O'Dowd. "Is it his nose bleedn?  He always used to say'twas hisnose bleedntill he must have pomped all theblood outof 'um.  An't the magnolias at Glenmalonyas big astaykettlesO'Dowd?"

"'Deedthen they areand biggerPeggy" the Majorsaid. When the conversation was interrupted in themannerstated by the arrival of the officer who purchasedthebouquet.

"Devlishfine horse--who is it?" George asked.

"Youshould see me brother Molloy Malony's horseMolassesthat won the cop at the Curragh" the Major'swife wasexclaimingand was continuing the familyhistorywhen her husband interrupted her by saying--

"It'sGeneral Tuftowho commands the ---- cavalrydivision";adding quietly"he and I were both shot inthe sameleg at Talavera."

"Whereyou got your step" said George with a laugh."GeneralTufto! Thenmy dearthe Crawleys are come."

Amelia'sheart fell--she knew not why.  The sun didnot seemto shine so bright.  The tall old roofs andgableslooked less picturesque all of a suddenthoughit was abrilliant sunsetand one of the brightest andmostbeautiful days at the end of May.

CHAPTERXXIXBrussels

Mr. Joshad hired a pair of horses for his open carriagewith whichcattleand the smart London vehiclehe madea verytolerable figure in the drives about Brussels.Georgepurchased a horse for his private ridingandhe andCaptain Dobbin would often accompany thecarriagein which Jos and his sister took daily excursionsofpleasure.  They went out that day in the park for theiraccustomeddiversionand theresure enoughGeorge'sremarkwith regard to the arrival of Rawdon Crawley andhis wifeproved to be correct.  In the midst of a littletroop ofhorsemenconsisting of some of the very greatestpersons inBrusselsRebecca was seen in the prettiestandtightest of riding-habitsmounted on a beautifullittleArabwhich she rode to perfection (having acquiredthe art atQueen's Crawleywhere the BaronetMr.PittandRawdon himself had given her many lessons)and by theside of the gallant General Tufto.

"Sureit's the Juke himself" cried Mrs. Major O'Dowdto Joswho began to blush violently; "and that's LordUxbridgeon the bay.  How elegant he looks!  Me brotherMolloyMalonyis as like him as two pays."

Rebeccadid not make for the carriage; but as soonas sheperceived her old acquaintance Amelia seated initacknowledged her presence by a gracious nod andsmileandby kissing and shaking her fingers playfullyin thedirection of the vehicle.  Then she resumed herconversationwith General Tuftowho asked "who thefatofficer was in the gold-laced cap?" on which Beckyreplied"that he was an officer in the East Indian service."But RawdonCrawley rode out of the ranks of hiscompanyand came up and shook hands heartily withAmeliaand said to Jos"Wellold boyhow are you?"and staredin Mrs. O'Dowd's face and at.the black cock'sfeathersuntil she began to think she had made aconquestof him.

Georgewho had been delayed behindrode up almostimmediatelywith Dobbinand they touched their caps tothe augustpersonagesamong whom Osborne at onceperceivedMrs. Crawley.  He was delighted to see Rawdonleaningover his carriage familiarly and talking to Ameliaand metthe aide-de-camp's cordial greeting with morethancorresponding warmth.  The nods between Rawdonand Dobbinwere of the very faintest specimens ofpoliteness.

Crawleytold George where they were stopping withGeneralTufto at the Hotel du Parcand George madehis friendpromise to come speedily to Osborne's ownresidence. "Sorry I hadn't seen you three days ago"Georgesaid.  "Had a dinner at the Restaurateur's--rather anicething.  Lord Bareacresand the Countessand LadyBlanchewere good enough to dine with us--wish we'dhad you."Having thus let his friend know his claims to bea man offashionOsborne parted from Rawdonwhofollowedthe august squadron down an alley into whichtheycanteredwhile George and Dobbin resumed theirplacesone on each side of Amelia's carriage.

"Howwell the Juke looked" Mrs. O'Dowd remarked."TheWellesleys and Malonys are related; butof coursepoor Iwould never dream of introjuicing myself unlesshis Gracethought proper to remember our family-tie."

"He'sa great soldier" Jos saidmuch more at easenow thegreat man was gone.  "Was there ever a battlewon likeSalamanca?  HeyDobbin?  But where was it helearnt hisart?  In Indiamy boy!  The jungle's the schoolfor ageneralmark me that.  I knew him myselftooMrs.O'Dowd:  we both of us danced the same eveningwith MissCutlerdaughter of Cutler of the Artilleryanda devilishfine girlat Dumdum."

Theapparition of the great personages held themall intalk during the drive; and at dinner; and until thehour camewhen they were all to go to the Opera.

It wasalmost like Old England.  The house was filledwithfamiliar British facesand those toilettes for whichtheBritish female has long been celebrated.  Mrs.O'Dowd'swas not the least splendid amongst theseandshe had acurl on her foreheadand a set of Irish diamondsandCairngormswhich outshone all the decorationsin thehousein her notion.  Her presence used toexcruciateOsborne; but go she would upon all parties ofpleasureon which she heard her young friends were bent.It neverentered into her thought but that they must becharmedwith her company.

"She'sbeen useful to youmy dear" George said tohis wifewhom he could leave alone with less scruplewhen shehad this society.  "But what a comfort it is thatRebecca'scome:  you will have her for a friendand wemay getrid now of this damn'd Irishwoman."  To thisAmelia didnot answeryes or no:  and how do we knowwhat herthoughts were?

The coupd'oeil of the Brussels opera-house did notstrikeMrs. O'Dowd as being so fine as the theatre inFishambleStreetDublinnor was French music at allequalinher opinionto the melodies of her native country.Shefavoured her friends with these and other opinionsin a veryloud tone of voiceand tossed about agreatclattering fan she sportedwith the most splendidcomplacency.

"Whois that wonderful woman with AmeliaRawdonlove?"said a lady in an opposite box (whoalmost alwayscivil toher husband in privatewas more fond thanever ofhim in company).

"Don'tyou see that creature with a yellow thing inherturbanand a red satin gownand a great watch?"

"Nearthe pretty little woman in white?" asked amiddle-agedgentleman seated by the querist's sidewithorders inhis buttonand several under-waistcoatsanda greatchokywhite stock.

"Thatpretty woman in white is AmeliaGeneral:  youareremarking all the pretty womenyou naughty man."

"Onlyonebegadin the world!" said the Generaldelightedand thelady gave him a tap with a large bouquetwhich shehad.

"Bedadit's him" said Mrs. O'Dowd; "and that's thevery bokayhe bought in the Marshy aux Flures!" andwhenRebeccahaving caught her friend's eyeperformedthe littlehand-kissing operation once moreMrs. MajorO'D.taking the compliment to herselfreturned the salutewith agracious smilewhich sent that unfortunateDobbinshrieking out of the box again.

At the endof the actGeorge was out of the box in amomentand he was even going to pay his respects toRebecca inher loge.  He met Crawley in the lobbyhoweverwhere theyexchanged a few sentences upon theoccurrencesof the last fortnight.

"Youfound my cheque all right at the agent's?Georgesaidwith a knowing air.

"Allrightmy boy" Rawdon answered.  "Happy to giveyou yourrevenge.  Governor come round?"

"Notyet" said George"but he will; and you know I'vesomeprivate fortune through my mother.  Has Auntyrelented?"

"Sentme twenty pounddamned old screw.  When shallwe have ameet?  The General dines out on Tuesday.Can't youcome Tuesday?  I saymake Sedley cut off hismoustache. What the devil does a civilian mean with amoustacheand those infernal frogs to his coat!  By-bye.Try andcome on Tuesday"; and Rawdon was going-offwith twobrilliant young gentlemen of fashionwho werelikehimselfon the staff of a general officer.

George wasonly half pleased to be asked to dinner onthatparticular day when the General was not to dine.  "Iwill go inand pay my respects to your wife" said he; atwhichRawdon said"Hmas you please" looking veryglumandat which the two young officers exchangedknowingglances.  George parted from them and strutteddown thelobby to the General's boxthe number of whichhe hadcarefully counted.

"Entrez"said a clear little voiceand our friend foundhimself inRebecca's presence; who jumped upclappedher handstogetherand held out both of them to Georgeso charmedwas she to see him.  The Generalwith theorders inhis buttonstared at the newcomer with a sulkyscowlasmuch as to saywho the devil are you?

"Mydear Captain George!" cried little Rebecca in anecstasy. "How good of you to come.  The General and Iweremoping together tete-a-tete.  Generalthis is myCaptainGeorge of whom you heard me talk."

"Indeed"said the Generalwith a very small bow; "ofwhatregiment is Captain George?"

Georgementioned the --th:  how he wished he couldhave saidit was a crack cavalry corps.

"Comehome lately from the West IndiesI believe.Not seenmuch service in the late war.  Quartered hereCaptainGeorge?"--the General went on with killinghaughtiness.

"NotCaptain Georgeyou stupid man; Captain Osborne"Rebeccasaid.  The General all the while was lookingsavagelyfrom one to the other.

"CaptainOsborneindeed! Any relation to the L--Osbornes?"

"Webear the same arms" George saidas indeed wasthe fact;Mr. Osborne having consulted with a herald inLong Acreand picked the L-- arms out of the peeragewhen heset up his carriage fifteen years before.  TheGeneralmade no reply to this announcement; but tookup hisopera-glass--the double-barrelled lorgnon was notinventedin those days--and pretended to examine thehouse; butRebecca saw that his disengaged eye wasworkinground in her directionand shooting outbloodshotglances at her and George.

Sheredoubled in cordiality.  "How is dearest Amelia?But Ineedn't ask: how pretty she looks!  And who is thatnicegood-natured looking creature with her--a flame ofyours? Oyou wicked men!  And there is Mr. SedleyeatingiceI declare: how he seems to enjoy it!  Generalwhyhave wenot had any ices?"

"ShallI go and fetch you some?" said the Generalburstingwith wrath.

"LetME goI entreat you" George said.

"NoI will go to Amelia's box.  Dearsweet girl!  Giveme yourarmCaptain George"; and so sayingand with anod to theGeneralshe tripped into the lobby.  She gaveGeorge thequeerestknowingest lookwhen they weretogethera look which might have been interpreted"Don'tyou see the state of affairsand what a fool I'mmaking ofhim?"  But he did not perceive it.  He wasthinkingof his own plansand lost in pompous admirationof his ownirresistible powers of pleasing.

The cursesto which the General gave a low utteranceas soon asRebecca and her conqueror had quitted himwere sodeepthat I am sure no compositor wouldventure toprint them were they written down.  They camefrom theGeneral's heart; and a wonderful thing it is tothink thatthe human heart is capable of generating suchproduceand can throw outas occasion demandssucha supplyof lust and furyrage and hatred.

Amelia'sgentle eyestoohad been fixed anxiously onthe pairwhose conduct had so chafed the jealous General;but whenRebecca entered her boxshe flew to herfriendwith an affectionate rapture which showed itselfinspite ofthe publicity of the place; for she embraced herdearestfriend in the presence of the whole houseat leastin fullview of the General's glassnow brought to bearupon theOsborne party.  Mrs. Rawdon saluted Jostoowith thekindliest greeting: she admired Mrs. O'Dowd'slargeCairngorm brooch and superb Irish diamondsandwouldn'tbelieve that they were not from Golconda direct.Shebustledshe chatteredshe turned and twistedand smiledupon oneand smirked on anotherall in fullview ofthe jealous opera-glass opposite.  And when thetime forthe ballet came (in which there was no dancerthat wentthrough her grimaces or performed her comedyof actionbetter)she skipped back to her own boxleaningon CaptainDobbin's arm this time.  Noshe wouldnot haveGeorge's: he must stay and talk to his dearestbestlittle Amelia.

"Whata humbug that woman is!" honest old Dobbinmumbled toGeorgewhen he came back from Rebecca'sboxwhither he had conducted her in perfect silenceandwith acountenance as glum as an undertaker's.  "Shewrithesand twists about like a snake.  All the time shewas heredidn't you seeGeorgehow she was acting attheGeneral over the way?"

"Humbug--acting! Hang itshe's the nicest littlewoman inEngland" George repliedshowing his whiteteethandgiving his ambrosial whiskers a twirl.  "Youain't aman of the worldDobbin.  Dammylook at hernowshe'stalked over Tufto in no time.  Look how he'slaughing! Gadwhat a shoulder she has!  Emmywhydidn't youhave a bouquet?  Everybody has a bouquet."

"Faiththenwhy didn't you BOY one?" Mrs. O'Dowdsaid; andboth Amelia and William Dobbin thanked herfor thistimely observation.  But beyond this neither ofthe ladiesrallied.  Amelia was overpowered by the flashand thedazzle and the fashionable talk of her worldly rival.Even theO'Dowd was silent and subdued after Becky'sbrilliantapparitionand scarcely said a word more aboutGlenmalonyall the evening.

"Whendo you intend to give up playGeorgeas youhavepromised meany time these hundred years?" Dobbinsaid tohis friend a few days after the night at theOpera. "When do you intend to give up sermonising?"was theother's reply.  "What the deucemanare youalarmedabout?  We play low; I won last night.  Youdon'tsuppose Crawley cheats?  With fair play it comesto prettymuch the same thing at the year's end."

"ButI don't think he could pay if he lost" Dobbinsaid; andhis advice met with the success which adviceusuallycommands.  Osborne and Crawley were repeatedlytogethernow.  General Tufto dined abroad almost constantly.George wasalways welcome in the apartments(veryclose indeed to those of the General) which theaide-de-campand his wife occupied in the hotel.

Amelia'smanners were such when she and George visitedCrawleyand his wife at these quartersthat they hadverynearly come to their first quarrel; that isGeorgescoldedhis wife violently for her evident unwillingness togoandthe high and mighty manner in which she comportedherselftowards Mrs. Crawleyher old friend; andAmelia didnot say one single word in reply; but with herhusband'seye upon herand Rebecca scanning her as shefeltwasif possiblemore bashful and awkward on thesecondvisit which she paid to Mrs. Rawdonthan on herfirstcall.

Rebeccawas doubly affectionateof courseand wouldnot takenoticein the leastof her friend's coolness.  "Ithink Emmyhas become prouder since her father's namewas inthe--since Mr. Sedley's MISFORTUNES" Rebeccasaidsoftening the phrase charitably for George's ear.

"Uponmy wordI thought when we were at Brightonshe wasdoing me the honour to be jealous of me; andnow Isuppose she is scandalised because Rawdonand Iand theGeneral live together.  Whymy dear creaturehow couldwewith our meanslive at allbut for a friendto shareexpenses?  And do you suppose that Rawdon isnot bigenough to take care of my honour?  But I'm verymuchobliged to Emmyvery" Mrs. Rawdon said.

"Poohjealousy!" answered George"all women arejealous."

"Andall men too.  Weren't you jealous of GeneralTuftoandthe General of youon the night of the Opera?Whyhewas ready to eat me for going with you to visitthatfoolish little wife of yours; as if I care a pin foreither ofyou" Crawley's wife saidwith a pert toss ofher head. "Will you dine here?  The dragon dines with theCommander-in-Chief. Great news is stirring.  They saythe Frenchhave crossed the frontier.  We shall have aquietdinner."

Georgeaccepted the invitationalthough his wife was alittleailing.  They were now not quite six weeks married.Anotherwoman was laughing or sneering at her expenseand he notangry.  He was not even angry with himselfthisgood-natured fellow.  It is a shamehe owned to himself;but hangitif a pretty woman WILL throw herself inyour waywhywhat can a fellow doyou know?  I AMratherfree about womenhe had often saidsmiling andnoddingknowingly to Stubble and Spooneyand othercomradesof the mess-table; and they rather respectedhim thanotherwise for this prowess.  Next to conqueringin warconquering in love has been a source of pridetime outof mindamongst men in Vanity Fairor howshouldschoolboys brag of their amoursor Don Juan bepopular?

So Mr.Osbornehaving a firm conviction in his ownmind thathe was a woman-killer and destined to conquerdid notrun counter to his fatebut yielded himselfup to itquite complacently.  And as Emmy did not saymuch orplague him with her jealousybut merely becameunhappyand pined over it miserably in secrethe choseto fancythat she was not suspicious of what all hisacquaintancewere perfectly aware--namelythat he wascarryingon a desperate flirtation with Mrs. Crawley.  Herode withher whenever she was free.  He pretendedregimentalbusiness to Amelia (by which falsehood she wasnot in theleast deceived)and consigning his wife tosolitudeor her brother's societypassed his evenings intheCrawleys' company; losing money to the husband andflatteringhimself that the wife was dying of love for him.It is verylikely that this worthy couple never absolutelyconspiredand agreed together in so many words:  the oneto cajolethe young gentlemanwhilst the other won hismoney atcards: but they understood each other perfectlywellandRawdon let Osborne come and go with entiregoodhumour.

George wasso occupied with his new acquaintancesthat heand William Dobbin were by no means so muchtogetheras formerly.  George avoided him in public andin theregimentandas we seedid not like thosesermonswhich his senior was disposed to inflict upon him.If someparts of his conduct made Captain Dobbinexceedinglygrave and cool; of what use was it to tell Georgethatthough his whiskers were largeand his ownopinion ofhis knowingness greathe was as green as aschoolboy?that Rawdon was making a victim of him as he haddone ofmany beforeand as soon as he had used himwouldfling him off with scorn?  He would not listen:  andsoasDobbinupon those days when he visited the0sbornehouseseldom had the advantage of meeting hisoldfriendmuch painful and unavailing talk betweenthem wasspared.  Our friend George was in the full careerof thepleasures of Vanity Fair.

Therenever wassince the days of Dariussuch a brillianttrain ofcamp-followers as hung round the Duke ofWellington'sarmy in the Low Countriesin 1815; andled itdancing and feastingas it wereup to the verybrink ofbattle.  A certain ball which a noble Duchessgave atBrussels on the 15th of June in the above-namedyear ishistorical.  All Brussels had been in a state ofexcitementabout itand I have heard from ladies whowere inthat town at the periodthat the talk and interestof personsof their own sex regarding the ball was muchgreatereven than in respect of the enemy in their front.Thestrugglesintriguesand prayers to get tickets weresuch asonly English ladies will employin order to gainadmissionto the society of the great of their own nation.

Jos andMrs. O'Dowdwho were panting to be askedstrove invain to procure tickets; but others of our friendswere morelucky.  For instancethrough the interest ofmy LordBareacresand as a set-off for the dinner at therestaurateur'sGeorge got a card for Captain and Mrs.Osborne;which circumstance greatly elated him.  Dobbinwho was afriend of the General commanding the divisionin whichtheir regiment wascame laughing oneday toMrs. Osborneand displayed a similar invitationwhich madeJos enviousand George wonder how thedeuce heshould be getting into society.  Mr. and Mrs.Rawdonfinallywere of course invited; as became thefriends ofa General commanding a cavalry brigade.

On theappointed nightGeorgehaving commandednewdresses and ornaments of all sorts for Ameliadroveto thefamous ballwhere his wife did not know a singlesoul. After looking about for Lady Bareacreswho cuthimthinking the card was quite enough--and afterplacingAmelia on a benchhe left her to her owncogitationstherethinkingon his own partthat he hadbehavedvery handsomely in getting her new clothesandbringingher to the ballwhere she was free to amuseherself asshe liked.  Her thoughts were not of thepleasantestand nobody except honest Dobbin came todisturbthem.

Whilst herappearance was an utter failure (as herhusbandfelt with a sort of rage)Mrs. Rawdon Crawley'sdebut wason the contraryvery brilliant.  She arrivedverylate.  Her face was radiant; her dress perfection.  Inthe midstof the great persons assembledand the eye-glassesdirected to herRebecca seemed to be as coolandcollected as when she used to marshal Miss Pinkerton'slittlegirls to church.  Numbers of the men she knewalreadyand the dandies thronged round her.  As for theladiesitwas whispered among them that Rawdon hadrun awaywith her from out of a conventand that shewas arelation of the Montmorency family.  She spokeFrench soperfectly that there might be some truth inthisreportand it was agreed that her manners werefineandher air distingue.  Fifty would-be partnersthrongedround her at onceand pressed to have thehonour todance with her.  But she said she was engagedand onlygoing to dance very little; and made her way atonce tothe place where Emmy sate quite unnoticedanddismallyunhappy.  And soto finish the poor child atonceMrs.Rawdon ran and greeted affectionately herdearestAmeliaand began forthwith to patronise her.She foundfault with her friend's dressand herhairdresserand wondered how she could be so chausseeand vowedthat she must send her corsetiere the nextmorning. She vowed that it was a delightful ball; thatthere waseverybody that every one knewand only aVERY fewnobodies in the whole room.  It is a factthatin afortnightand after three dinners in general societythis youngwoman had got up the genteel jargon so wellthat anative could not speak it better; and it was onlyfrom herFrench being so goodthat you could know shewas not aborn woman of fashion.

Georgewho had left Emmy on her bench on enteringtheball-roomvery soon found his way back whenRebeccawas by her dear friend's side.  Becky was justlecturingMrs. Osborne upon the follies which herhusbandwas committing.  "For God's sakestop him fromgamblingmy dear" she said"or he will ruin himself.He andRawdon are playing at cards every nightand youknow he isvery poorand Rawdon will win every shillingfrom himif he does not take care.  Why don't you preventhimyoulittle careless creature?  Why don't youcome to usof an eveninginstead of moping at homewith thatCaptain Dobbin?  I dare say he is tres aimable;but howcould one love a man with feet of such size?Yourhusband's feet are darlings--Here he comes.  Wherehave youbeenwretch?  Here is Emmy crying her eyesout foryou.  Are you coming to fetch me for the quadrille?"And sheleft her bouquet and shawl by Amelia'ssideandtripped off with George to dance.  Women onlyknow howto wound so.  There is a poison on the tips oftheirlittle shaftswhich stings a thousand times morethan aman's blunter weapon.  Our poor Emmywho hadneverhatednever sneered all her lifewas powerless inthe handsof her remorseless little enemy.

Georgedanced with Rebecca twice or thrice--how manytimesAmelia scarcely knew.  She sat quite unnoticed inhercornerexcept when Rawdon came up with somewords ofclumsy conversation:  and later in the eveningwhenCaptain Dobbin made so bold as to bring herrefreshmentsand sit beside her.  He did not like to ask herwhy shewas so sad; but as a pretext for the tears whichwerefilling in her eyesshe told him that Mrs. Crawleyhadalarmed her by telling her that George would go onplaying.

"Itis curiouswhen a man is bent upon playby whatclumsyrogues he will allow himself to be cheated"Dobbinsaid; and Emmy said"Indeed." She was thinking ofsomethingelse.  It was not the loss of the money thatgrievedher.

At lastGeorge came back for Rebecca's shawl andflowers. She was going away.  She did not evencondescendto come back and say good-bye to Amelia.  Thepoor girllet her husband come and go without saying awordandher head fell on her breast.  Dobbin had beencalledawayand was whispering deep in conversationwith theGeneral of the divisionhis friendand had notseen thislast parting.  George went away then with thebouquet;but when he gave it to the ownerthere lay anotecoiled like a snake among the flowers.  Rebecca'seye caughtit at once.  She had been used to deal withnotes inearly life.  She put out her hand and took thenosegay. He saw by her eyes as they metthat she wasaware whatshe should find there.  Her husband hurried herawaystill too intent upon his own thoughtsseeminglyto takenote of any marks of recognition which mightpassbetween his friend and his wife.  These werehoweverbut trifling.  Rebecca gave George her hand with oneof herusual quick knowing glancesand made a curtseyand walkedaway.  George bowed over the handsaidnothing inreply to a remark of Crawley'sdid not hear itevenhisbrain was so throbbing with triumph andexcitementand allowed them to go away without a word.

His wifesaw the one part at least of the bouquet-scene.It wasquite natural that George should come at Rebecca'srequest toget her her scarf and flowers:  it was nomore thanhe had done twenty times before in the courseof thelast few days; but now it was too much for her."William"she saidsuddenly clinging to Dobbinwho wasnear her"you've always been very kind to me--I'm--I'm notwell.  Take me home."  She did not know she calledhim by hisChristian nameas George was accustomed todo. He went away with her quickly.  Her lodgings werehard by;and they threaded through the crowd withoutwhereeverything seemed to be more astir than even in theball-roomwithin.

George hadbeen angry twice or thrice at finding hiswife up onhis return from the parties which hefrequented: so she went straight to bed now; but althoughshe didnot sleepand although the din and clatterandthegalloping of horsemen were incessantshe never heardany ofthese noiseshaving quite other disturbances tokeep herawake.

Osbornemeanwhilewild with elationwent off to aplay-tableand began to bet frantically.  He won repeatedly."Everythingsucceeds with me to-night" he said.But hisluck at play even did not cure him of his restlessnessand hestarted up after awhilepocketing his winningsand wentto a buffetwhere he drank off manybumpers ofwine.

Hereashe was rattling away to the people aroundlaughingloudly and wild with spiritsDobbin found him.He hadbeen to the card-tables to look there for hisfriend. Dobbin looked as pale and grave as his comradewasflushed and jovial.

''HulloDob!  Come and drinkold Dob!  The Duke'swine isfamous.  Give me some moreyou sir"; and heheld out atrembling glass for the liquor.

"ComeoutGeorge" said Dobbinstill gravely; "don'tdrink."

"Drink! there's nothing like it.  Drink yourselfandlight upyour lantern jawsold boy.  Here's to you."

Dobbinwent up and whispered something to himatwhichGeorgegiving a start and a wild hurraytossed offhis glassclapped it on the tableand walked awayspeedilyon his friend's arm.  "The enemy has passed theSambre"William said"and our left is already engaged.Comeaway.  We are to march in three hours."

Away wentGeorgehis nerves quivering with excitementat thenews so long looked forso sudden when itcame. What were love and intrigue now?  He thoughtabout athousand things but these in his rapid walk to hisquarters--hispast life and future chances--the fate whichmight bebefore him--the wifethe child perhapsfromwhomunseen he might be about to part.  Ohhow hewishedthat night's work undone!  and that with a clearconscienceat least he might say farewell to the tenderandguileless being by whose love he had set such littlestore!

He thoughtover his brief married life.  In those fewweeks hehad frightfully dissipated his little capital.  Howwild andreckless he had been!  Should any mischancebefallhim:  what was then left for her?  How unworthy hewas ofher.  Why had he married her?  He was not fit formarriage. Why had he disobeyed his fatherwho had beenalways sogenerous to him?  Hoperemorseambitiontendernessand selfish regret filled his heart.  He satedown andwrote to his fatherremembering what he hadsaid oncebeforewhen he was engaged to fight a duel.Dawnfaintly streaked the sky as he closed this farewellletter. He sealed itand kissed the superscription.  Hethoughthow he had deserted that generous fatherand ofthethousand kindnesses which the stern old man haddone him.

He hadlooked into Amelia's bedroom when he entered;she layquietand her eyes seemed closedand hewas gladthat she was asleep.  On arriving at his quartersfrom theballhe had found his regimental servant alreadymakingpreparations for his departure:  the manhadunderstood his signal to be stilland these arrangementswere veryquickly and silently made.  Should he goin andwake Ameliahe thoughtor leave a note for herbrother tobreak the news of departure to her?  He wentin to lookat her once again.

She hadbeen awake when he first entered her roombut hadkept her eyes closedso that even her wakefulnessshould notseem to reproach him.  But when he hadreturnedso soon after herselftoothis timid little hearthad feltmore at easeand turning towards him as hesteptsoftly out of the roomshe had fallen into a lightsleep. George came in and looked at her againenteringstill moresoftly.  By the pale night-lamp he could see hersweetpale face--the purple eyelids were fringed andclosedand one round armsmooth and whitelay outsideof thecoverlet.  Good God!  how pure she was; howgentlehow tenderand how friendless!  and hehowselfishbrutaland black with crime!  Heart-stainedandshame-strickenhe stood at the bed's footand looked atthesleeping girl.  How dared he--who was heto pray forone sospotless!  God bless her!  God bless her!  He came tothebedsideand looked at the handthe little soft handlyingasleep; and he bent over the pillow noiselesslytowardsthe gentle pale face.

Two fairarms closed tenderly round his neck as hestoopeddown.  "I am awakeGeorge" the poor child saidwith a sobfit to break the little heart that nestled soclosely byhis own.  She was awakepoor souland torailingsand the beadle: whoif she walked ever so shorta distanceto buy a ribbon in Southampton Rowwasfollowedby Black Sambo with an enormous cane: whowas alwayscared fordressedput to bedand watchedover byever so many guardian angelswith and withoutwages? Bon DieuI sayis it not hard that the fatefulrush ofthe great Imperial struggle can't take place withoutaffectinga poor little harmless girl of eighteenwhoisoccupied in billing and cooingor working muslincollars inRussell Square?  You tookindlyhomely flower!--is thegreat roaring war tempest coming to sweep youdownherealthough cowering under the shelter ofHolborn? Yes; Napoleon is flinging his last stakeand poorlittleEmmy Sedley's happiness formssomehowpart of it. In thefirst placeher father's fortune was swept downwith thatfatal news.  All his speculations had of late gonewrong withthe luckless old gentleman.  Ventures hadfailed;merchants had broken; funds had risen when hecalculatedthey would fall.  What need to particularize?If successis rare and sloweverybody knows how quickand easyruin is.  Old Sedley had kept his own sad counsel.Everythingseemed to go on as usual in the quietopulenthouse; the good-natured mistress pursuingquiteunsuspiciouslyher bustling idlenessand daily easyavocations;the daughter absorbed still in one selfishtenderthoughtand quite regardless of all the world besideswhen thatfinal crash cameunder which the worthyfamilyfell. One nightMrs. Sedley was writing cards for a party;theOsbornes had given oneand she must not bebehindhand;John Sedleywho had come home very late fromthe Citysate silent at the chimney sidewhile his wifewasprattling to him; Emmy had gone up to her roomailing andlow-spirited.  "She's not happy" the motherwent on. "George Osborne neglects her.  I've no patiencewith theairs of those people.  The girls have not been inthe housethese three weeks; and George has been twicein townwithout coming.  Edward Dale saw him at theOpera. Edward would marry her I'm sure: and there'sCaptainDobbin whoI thinkwould--only I hate allarmy men. Such a dandy as George has become.  Withhismilitary airsindeed!  We must show some folks thatwe're asgood as they.  Only give Edward Dale anyencouragementand you'll see.  We must have a partyMr.S. Why don't you speakJohn?  Shall I say Tuesday fortnight?Why don'tyou answer? Good GodJohnwhat has happened?" JohnSedley sprang up out of his chair to meet hiswifewhoran to him.  He seized her in his armsandsaid witha hasty voice"We're ruinedMary.  We'vegot theworld to begin over againdear.  It's best that youshouldknow alland at once."  As he spokehe trembledin everylimband almost fell.  He thought the news wouldhaveoverpowered his wife--his wifeto whom he hadnever saida hard word.  But it was he that was the mostmovedsudden as the shock was to her.  When he sankback intohis seatit was the wife that took the office ofconsoler. She took his trembling handand kissed itandput itround her neck: she called him her John--her dearJohn--herold man--her kind old man; she poured out ahundredwords of incoherent love and tenderness; herfaithfulvoice and simple caresses wrought this sad heartup to aninexpressible delight and anguishand cheeredandsolaced his over-burdened soul. Only oncein the course of the long night as they satetogetherand poor Sedley opened his pent-up soulandtold thestory of his losses and embarrassments--thetreason ofsome of his oldest friendsthe manly kindnessof somefrom whom he never could have expected it--ina generalconfession--only once did the faithful wife giveway toemotion. "MyGodmy Godit will break Emmy's heart" shesaid. The fatherhad forgotten the poor girl.  She was lyingawake andunhappyoverhead.  In the midst of friendshomeandkind parentsshe was alone.  To how manypeople canany one tell all?  Who will be open where thereis nosympathyor has call to speak to those who nevercanunderstand?  Our gentle Amelia was thus solitary.  Shehad noconfidanteso to speakever since she had anythingtoconfide.  She could not tell the old mother herdoubts andcares; the would-be sisters seemed every daymorestrange to her.  And she had misgivings and fearswhich shedared not acknowledge to herselfthough shewas alwayssecretly brooding over them.

Her hearttried to persist in asserting that GeorgeOsbornewas worthy and faithful to herthough she knewotherwise. How many a thing had she saidand got noecho fromhim.  How many suspicions of selfishness andindifferencehad she to encounter and obstinatelyovercome. To whom could the poor little martyr tell thesedailystruggles and tortures?  Her hero himself only halfunderstoodher.  She did not dare to own that the man sheloved washer inferior; or to feel that she had given herheart awaytoo soon.  Given oncethe pure bashfulmaiden wastoo modesttoo tendertoo trustfultooweaktoomuch woman to recall it.  We are Turks withtheaffections of our women; and have made themsubscribeto our doctrine too.  We let their bodies go abroadliberallyenoughwith smiles and ringlets and pinkbonnets todisguise them instead of veils and yakmaks.  Buttheirsouls must be seen by only one manand they obeynotunwillinglyand consent to remain at home as ourslaves--ministeringto us and doing drudgery for us.

Soimprisoned and tortured was this gentle little heartwhen inthe month of MarchAnno Domini 1815Napoleonlanded at Cannesand Louis XVIII fledand allEurope wasin alarmand the funds felland old JohnSedley wasruined.

We are notgoing to follow the worthy old stockbrokerthroughthose last pangs and agonies of ruin throughwhich hepassed before his commercial demise befell.Theydeclared him at the Stock Exchange; he wasabsentfrom his house of business: his bills were protested:his act ofbankruptcy formal.  The house and furniture ofRussellSquare were seized and sold upand he and hisfamilywere thrust awayas we have seento hide theirheadswhere they might.

JohnSedley had not the heart to review the domesticestablishmentwho have appeared now and anon in ourpages andof whom he was now forced by poverty totakeleave.  The wages of those worthy people weredischargedwith that punctuality which men frequently showwho onlyowe in great sums--they were sorry to leavegoodplaces--but they did not break their hearts at partingfrom theiradored master and mistress.  Amelia's maidwasprofuse in condolencesbut went off quite resignedto betterherself in a genteeler quarter of the town.  BlackSambowith the infatuation of his professiondeterminedon settingup a public-house.  Honest old Mrs. Blenkinsopindeedwho had seen the birth of Jos and Ameliaandthe wooingof John Sedley and his wifewas for stayingby themwithout wageshaving amassed a considerablesum intheir service: and she accompanied the fallenpeopleinto their new and humble place of refugewhereshe tendedthem and grumbled against them for a while.

Of allSedley's opponents in his debates with his creditorswhich nowensuedand harassed the feelings of thehumiliatedold gentleman so severelythat in six weeks heoldenedmore than he had done for fifteen years before--the mostdetermined and obstinate seemed to be JohnOsbornehis old friend and neighbour--John Osbornewhom hehad set up in life--who was under a hundredobligationsto him--and whose son was to marry Sedley'sdaughter. Any one of these circumstances would accountfor thebitterness of Osborne's opposition.

When oneman has been under very remarkableobligationsto anotherwith whom he subsequently quarrelsa commonsense of decencyas it weremakes of theformer amuch severer enemy than a mere strangerwould be. To account for your own hard-heartedness andingratitudein such a caseyou are bound to prove theotherparty's crime.  It is not that you are selfishbrutaland angryat the failure of a speculation--nono--it isthat yourpartner has led you into it by the basest treacheryand withthe most sinister motives.  From a meresense ofconsistencya persecutor is bound to show thatthe fallenman is a villain--otherwise hethe persecutoris awretch himself.

And as ageneral rulewhich may make all creditorswho areinclined to be severe pretty comfortable in theirmindsnomen embarrassed are altogether honestverylikely. They conceal something; they exaggerate chancesof goodluck; hide away the real state of affairs; say thatthings areflourishing when they are hopelesskeep asmilingface (a dreary smile it is) upon the verge ofbankruptcy--areready to lay hold of any pretext fordelay orof any moneyso as to stave off the inevitableruin a fewdays longer.  "Down with such dishonesty"says thecreditor in triumphand reviles his sinkingenemy. "You foolwhy do you catch at a straw?" calmgood sensesays to the man that is drowning.  "You villainwhy do youshrink from plunging into the irretrievableGazette?"says prosperity to the poor devil battling inthat blackgulf.  Who has not remarked the readiness withwhich theclosest of friends and honestest of men suspectand accuseeach other of cheating when they fall outon moneymatters? Everybody does it.  Everybody is rightI supposeand the world is a rogue.

ThenOsborne had the intolerable sense of formerbenefitsto goad and irritate him: these are always acause ofhostility aggravated.  Finallyhe had to break offthe matchbetween Sedley's daughter and his son; andas it hadgone very far indeedand as the poor girl'shappinessand perhaps character were compromisedit wasnecessaryto show the strongest reasons for the ruptureand forJohn Osborne to prove John Sedley to be a verybadcharacter indeed.

At themeetings of creditorsthenhe comported himselfwith asavageness and scorn towards Sedleywhichalmostsucceeded in breaking the heart of that ruinedbankruptman.  On George's intercourse with Amelia heput aninstant veto--menacing the youth with maledictionsif hebroke his commandsand vilipending thepoorinnocent girl as the basest and most artful of vixens.One of thegreat conditions of anger and hatred isthatyou musttell and believe lies against the hated objectinorderaswe saidto be consistent.

When thegreat crash came--the announcement ofruinandthe departure from Russell Squareand thedeclarationthat all was over between her and George--alloverbetween her and loveher and happinessher andfaith inthe world--a brutal letter from John Osbornetold herin a few curt lines that her father's conduct hadbeen ofsuch a nature that all engagements between thefamilieswere at an end--when the final award cameitdid notshock her so much as her parentsas her motherratherexpected (for John Sedley himself was entirelyprostratein the ruins of his own affairs and shatteredhonour). Amelia took the news very palely and calmly.It wasonly the confirmation of the dark presages whichhad longgone before.  It was the mere reading of thesentence--ofthe crime she had long ago been guilty--thecrime ofloving wronglytoo violentlyagainst reason.She toldno more of her thoughts now than she hadbefore. She seemed scarcely more unhappy now whenconvincedall hope was overthan before when she felt butdared notconfess that it was gone.  So she changed fromthe largehouse to the small one without any mark ordifference;remained in her little room for the most part;pinedsilently; and died away day by day.  I do not meanto saythat all females are so.  My dear Miss BullockIdo notthink your heart would break in this way.  You areastrong-minded young woman with proper principles.I do notventure to say that mine would; it has sufferedanditmust be confessedsurvived.  But there are somesouls thusgently constitutedthus frailand delicateandtender.

Wheneverold John Sedley thought of the affairbetweenGeorge and Ameliaor alluded to itit was withbitternessalmost as great as Mr. Osborne himself hadshown. He cursed Osborne and his family as heartlesswickedand ungrateful.  No power on earthhe sworewouldinduce him to marry his daughter to the son ofsuch avillainand he ordered Emmy to banish Georgefrom hermindand to return all the presents and letterswhich shehad ever had from him.

Shepromised acquiescenceand tried to obey.  She putup the twoor three trinkets: andas for the lettersshedrew themout of the place.where she kept them; andread themover--as if she did not know them by heartalready:but she could not part with them.  That effortwas toomuch for her; she placed them back in herbosomagain--as you have seen a woman nurse a childthat isdead.  Young Amelia felt that she would die or loseher sensesoutrightif torn away from this last consolation.How sheused to blush and lighten up when thoseletterscame!  How she used to trip away with a beatingheartsothat she might read unseen!  If they were coldyet howperversely this fond little soul interpreted themintowarmth.  If they were short or selfishwhat excusesshe foundfor the writer!

It wasover these few worthless papers that she broodedandbrooded.  She lived in her past life--every letterseemed torecall some circumstance of it.  How well sherememberedthem all!  His looks and toneshis dresswhat hesaid and how--these relics and remembrancesof deadaffection were all that were left her in the world.And thebusiness of her lifewas--to watch the corpseof Love.

To deathshe looked with inexpressible longing.  ThenshethoughtI shall always be able to follow him.  I am notpraisingher conduct or setting her up as a model forMissBullock to imitate.  Miss B. knows how to regulateherfeelings better than this poor little creature.  Miss B.wouldnever have committed herself as that imprudentAmelia haddone; pledged her love irretrievably;confessedher heart awayand got back nothing--only abrittlepromise which was snapt and worthless in amoment. A long engagement is a partnership which oneparty isfree to keep or to breakbut which involves allthecapital of the other.

Becautious thenyoung ladies; be wary how youengage. Be shy of loving frankly; never tell all you feelor(a betterway still)feel very little.  See the consequencesof beingprematurely honest and confidingand mistrustyourselvesand everybody.  Get yourselves married as theydo inFrancewhere the lawyers are the bridesmaids andconfidantes. At any ratenever have any feelings whichmay makeyou uncomfortableor make any promiseswhich youcannot at any required moment command andwithdraw. That is the way to get onand be respectedand have avirtuous character in Vanity Fair.

If Ameliacould have heard the comments regardingher whichwere made in the circle from which her father'sruin hadjust driven hershe would have seen what herown crimeswereand how entirely her character wasjeopardised. Such criminal imprudence Mrs. Smith neverknew of;such horrid familiarities Mrs. Brown hadalwayscondemnedand the end might be a warning to HERdaughters. "Captain Osborneof coursecould not marryabankrupt's daughter" the Misses Dobbin said.  "It wasquiteenough to have been swindled by the father.  As forthatlittle Ameliaher folly had really passed all--"

"Allwhat?" Captain Dobbin roared out.  "Haven't theybeenengaged ever since they were children?  Wasn't itas good asa marriage?  Dare any soul on earth breathe awordagainst the sweetestthe purestthe tenderestthemostangelical of young women?"

"LaWilliamdon't be so highty-tighty with US.  We'renot men. We can't fight you" Miss Jane said.  "We've saidnothingagainst Miss Sedley: but that her conductthroughoutwas MOST IMPRUDENTnot to call it by anyworsename; and that her parents are people whocertainlymerit their misfortunes."

"Hadn'tyou betternow that Miss Sedley is freeproposefor her yourselfWilliam?" Miss Ann askedsarcastically. "It would be a most eligible familyconnection. He!  he!"

"Imarry her!" Dobbin saidblushing very muchandtalkingquick.  "If you are so readyyoung ladiesto chopandchangedo you suppose that she is?  Laugh and sneerat thatangel.  She can't hear it; and she's miserable andunfortunateand deserves to be laughed at.  Go onjokingAnn.  You're the wit of the familyand the otherslike tohear it."

"Imust tell you again we're not in a barrackWilliam"Miss Annremarked.

"In abarrackby Jove--I wish anybody in a barrackwould saywhat you do" cried out this uproused Britishlion. "I should like to hear a man breathe a word againstherbyJupiter.  But men don't talk in this wayAnn: it'sonlywomenwho get together and hissand shriekandcackle. Thereget away--don't begin to cry.  I only saidyou were acouple of geese" Will Dobbin saidperceivingMiss Ann'spink eyes were beginning to moisten asusual. "Wellyou're not geeseyou're swans--anythingyou likeonly dodo leave Miss Sedley alone."

Anythinglike William's infatuation about that silly littleflirtingogling thing was never knownthe mammaandsisters agreed together in thinking: and they trembledlestherengagement being off with Osborneshe shouldtake upimmediately her other admirer and Captain.In whichforebodings these worthy young women nodoubtjudged according to the best of their experience; orrather(for as yet they had had no opportunities ofmarryingor of jilting) according to their own notions ofright andwrong.

"Itis a mercyMammathat the regiment is orderedabroad"the girls said.  "THIS dangerat any rateisspared ourbrother."

Suchindeedwas the fact; and so it is that the FrenchEmperorcomes in to perform a part in this domesticcomedy ofVanity Fair which we are now playingandwhichwould never have been enacted without theinterventionof this august mute personage.  It was hethatruined the Bourbons and Mr. John Sedley.  It washe whosearrival in his capital called up all France inarms todefend him there; and all Europe to oust him.While theFrench nation and army were swearing fidelityround theeagles in the Champ de Marsfour mightyEuropeanhosts were getting in motion for the greatchasse al'aigle; and one of these was a British armyofwhich twoheroes of oursCaptain Dobbin and CaptainOsborneformed a portion.

The newsof Napoleon's escape and landing wasreceivedby the gallant --th with a fiery delight andenthusiasmwhich everybody can understand who knowsthatfamous corps.  From the colonel to the smallestdrummer inthe regimentall were filled with hope andambitionand patriotic fury; and thanked the French Emperoras for apersonal kindness in coming to disturb the peaceofEurope.  Now was the time the --th had so longpantedforto show their comrades in arms that theycouldfight as well as the Peninsular veteransand thatall thepluck and valour of the --th had not been killedby theWest Indies and the yellow fever.  Stubble andSpooneylooked to get their companies without purchase.Before theend of the campaign (which she resolvedto share)Mrs. Major O'Dowd hoped to writeherselfMrs. Colonel O'DowdC.B.  Our two friends(Dobbinand Osborne) were quite as much excited as therest: andeach in his way--Mr. Dobbin very quietlyMr.Osbornevery loudly and energetically--was bent upondoing hisdutyand gaining his share of honour anddistinction.

Theagitation thrilling through the country and armyinconsequence of this news was so greatthat privatematterswere little heeded: and hence probably GeorgeOsbornejust gazetted to his companybusy with preparationsfor themarchwhich must come inevitablyandpantingfor further promotion--was not so much affectedby otherincidents which would have interested him at amore quietperiod.  He was notit must be confessedvery muchcast down by good old Mr. Sedley's catastrophe.He triedhis new uniformwhich became himveryhandsomelyon the day when the first meeting ofthecreditors of the unfortunate gentleman took place.His fathertold him of the wickedrascallyshamefulconduct ofthe bankruptreminded him of what he hadsaid aboutAmeliaand that their connection was brokenoff forever; and gave him that evening a good sum ofmoney topay for the new clothes and epaulets in whichhe lookedso well.  Money was always useful to this free-handedyoung fellowand he took it without many words.The billswere up in the Sedley housewhere he hadpassed somanymany happy hours.  He could seethem as hewalked from home that night (to the OldSlaughters'where he put up when in town) shining whitein themoon.  That comfortable home was shutthenuponAmelia andher parents: where had they taken refuge?Thethought of their ruin affected him not a little.  Hewas verymelancholy that night in the coffee-room attheSlaughters'; and drank a good dealas his comradesremarkedthere.

Dobbincame in presentlycautioned him about thedrinkwhich he only tookhe saidbecause he wasdeucedlow; but when his friend began to put to himclumsyinquiriesand asked him for news in a significantmannerOsborne declined entering into conversation withhimavowinghoweverthat he was devilish disturbedandunhappy.

Three daysafterwardsDobbin found Osborne in hisroom atthe barracks--his head on the tablea numberof papersaboutthe young Captain evidently in a stateof greatdespondency.  "She--she's sent me back somethings Igave her--some damned trinkets.  Look here!"There wasa little packet directed in the well-known handto CaptainGeorge Osborneand some things lying about--a ringa silver knife he had boughtas a boyfor herat a fair;a gold chainand a locket with hair in it.  "It'sall over"said hewith a groan of sickening remorse."LookWillyou may read it if you like."

There wasa little letter of a few linesto which hepointedwhich said:

My papahas ordered me to return to you thesepresentswhich you made in happier days to me; and Iam towrite to you for the last time.  I thinkI know youfeel asmuch as I do the blow which has come upon us.It is Ithat absolve you from an engagement which isimpossiblein our present misery.  I am sure you had noshare initor in the cruel suspicions of Mr. Osbornewhich arethe hardest of all our griefs to bear.  Farewell.Farewell. I pray God to strengthen me to bear this andothercalamitiesand to bless you always.     A.

I shalloften play upon the piano--your piano.  It waslike youto send it.

Dobbin wasvery soft-hearted.  The sight of womenandchildren in pain always used to melt him.  The ideaof Ameliabroken-hearted and lonely tore that good-naturedsoul with anguish.  And he broke out into anemotionwhich anybody who likes may consider unmanly.He sworethat Amelia was an angelto which Osbornesaid ayewith all his heart.  Hetoohad been reviewingthehistory of their lives--and had seen her from herchildhoodto her present ageso sweetso innocentsocharmingly simpleand artlessly fond and tender.

What apang it was to lose all that: to have had it andnot prizedit!  A thousand homely scenes and recollectionscrowded onhim--in which he always saw her goodandbeautiful.  And for himselfhe blushed with remorseand shameas the remembrance of his own selfishnessandindifference contrasted with that perfect purity.  Fora whileglorywareverything was forgottenand thepair offriends talked about her only.

"Whereare they?" Osborne askedafter a long talkand a longpause--andin truthwith no little shame atthinkingthat he had taken no steps to follow her.  "Whereare they?There's no address to the note."

Dobbinknew.  He had not merely sent the piano; buthadwritten a note to Mrs. Sedleyand asked permissionto comeand see her--and he had seen herand Ameliatooyesterdaybefore he came down to Chatham; andwhat ismorehe had brought that farewell letter andpacketwhich had so moved them.

Thegood-natured fellow had found Mrs. Sedley onlytoowilling to receive himand greatly agitated by thearrival ofthe pianowhichas she conjecturedMUST havecome fromGeorgeand was a signal of amity on hispart. Captain Dobbin did not correct this error of theworthyladybut listened to all her story of complaintsandmisfortunes with great sympathy--condoled withher lossesand privationsand agreed in reprehending thecruelconduct of Mr. Osborne towards his first benefactor.When shehad eased her overflowing bosom somewhatand pouredforth many of her sorrowshe had thecourage toask actually to see Ameliawho was above inher roomas usualand whom her mother led tremblingdownstairs.

Herappearance was so ghastlyand her look of despairsopatheticthat honest William Dobbin was frightenedas hebeheld it; and read the most fatal forebodings inthat palefixed face.  After sitting in his company a minuteor twoshe put the packet into his handand said"Takethis to Captain Osborneif you pleaseand--and Ihope he'squite well--and it was very kind of you tocome andsee us--and we like our new house very much.And I--Ithink I'll go upstairsMammafor I'm not verystrong."And with thisand a curtsey and a smilethepoor childwent her way.  The motheras she led her upcast backlooks of anguish towards Dobbin.  The goodfellowwanted no such appeal.  He loved her himself toofondly forthat.  Inexpressible griefand pityand terrorpursuedhimand he came away as if he was a criminalafterseeing her.

WhenOsborne heard that his friend had found herhe madehot and anxious inquiries regarding the poorchild. How was she?  How did she look?  What did shesay? His comrade took his handand looked him in theface.

"Georgeshe's dying" William Dobbin said--and couldspeak nomore.

There wasa buxom Irish servant-girlwho performedall theduties of the little house where the Sedley familyhad foundrefuge: and this girl had in vainon manypreviousdaysstriven to give Amelia aid or consolation.Emmy wasmuch too sad to answeror even to be awareof theattempts the other was making in her favour.

Four hoursafter the talk between Dobbin and Osbornethisservant-maid came into Amelia's roomwhere shesate asusualbrooding silently over her letters--herlittletreasures.  The girlsmilingand looking arch andhappymade many trials to attract poor Emmy'sattentionwhohowevertook no heed of her.

"MissEmmy" said the girl.

"I'mcoming" Emmy saidnot looking round.

"There'sa message" the maid went on.  "There'ssomething--somebody--surehere's a new letter for you--don't bereading them old ones any more." And she gaveher aletterwhich Emmy tookand read.

"Imust see you" the letter said.  "Dearest Emmy--dearestlove--dearest wifecome to me."

George andher mother were outsidewaiting until shehad readthe letter.

CHAPTERXIXMissCrawley at Nurse

We haveseen how Mrs. Firkinthe lady's maidas soonas anyevent of importance to the Crawley family cameto herknowledgefelt bound to communicate it to Mrs.ButeCrawleyat the Rectory; and have beforementionedhow particularly kind and attentive that good-naturedlady was to Miss Crawley's confidential servant.She hadbeen a gracious friend to Miss Briggsthecompanionalso; and had secured the latter's good-will by anumber ofthose attentions and promiseswhich cost solittle inthe makingand are yet so valuable and agreeable totherecipient.  Indeed every good economist andmanager ofa household must know how cheap and yethowamiable these professions areand what a flavourthey giveto the most homely dish in life.  Who was theblunderingidiot who said that "fine words butter noparsnips"? Half the parsnips of society are served andrenderedpalatable with no other sauce.  As the immortalAlexisSoyer can make more delicious soup for a half-penny thanan ignorant cook can concoct with pounds ofvegetablesand meatso a skilful artist will make a fewsimple andpleasing phrases go farther than ever so muchsubstantialbenefit-stock in the hands of a mere bungler.Nayweknow that substantial benefits often sicken somestomachs;whereasmost will digest any amount of finewordsandbe always eager for more of the same food.Mrs. Butehad told Briggs and Firkin so often of thedepth ofher affection for them; and what she would doif she hadMiss Crawley's fortunefor friends so excellentandattachedthat the ladies in question had the deepestregard forher; and felt as much gratitude andconfidenceas if Mrs. Bute had loaded them with the mostexpensivefavours.

RawdonCrawleyon the other handlike a selfishheavydragoon as he wasnever took the least trouble toconciliatehis aunt's aides-de-campshowed his contemptfor thepair with entire frankness--made Firkin pull offhis bootson one occasion--sent her out in the rain onignominiousmessages--and if he gave her a guineaflungit to heras if it were a box on the ear.  As his aunttoomade abutt of Briggsthe Captain followed theexampleand levelled his jokes at her--jokes about asdelicateas a kick from his charger.  WhereasMrs. Buteconsultedher in matters of taste or difficultyadmiredherpoetryand by a thousand acts of kindness andpolitenessshowed her appreciation of Briggs; and if shemadeFirkin a twopenny-halfpenny presentaccompaniedit with somany complimentsthat the twopence-half-penny wastransmuted into gold in the heart of the gratefulwaiting-maidwhobesideswas looking forwardsquitecontentedly to some prodigious benefit which musthappen toher on the day when Mrs. Bute came into herfortune.

Thedifferent conduct of these two people is pointedoutrespectfully to the attention of persons commencingtheworld.  Praise everybodyI say to such: never besqueamishbut speak out your compliment both point-blank in aman's faceand behind his backwhenyou knowthere is a reasonable chance of his hearing itagain. Never lose a chance of saying a kind word.  AsCollingwoodnever saw a vacant place in his estate buthe took anacorn out of his pocket and popped it in;so dealwith your compliments through life.  An acorncostsnothing; but it may sprout into a prodigious bit oftimber.

In a wordduring Rawdon Crawley's prosperityhe wasonlyobeyed with sulky acquiescence; when his disgracecamethere was nobody to help or pity him.  Whereaswhen Mrs.Bute took the command at Miss Crawley'shousethegarrison there were charmed to act undersuch aleaderexpecting all sorts of promotion from herpromisesher generosityand her kind words.

That hewould consider himself beatenafter one defeatand makeno attempt to regain the position he hadlostMrs.Bute Crawley never allowed herself to suppose.She knewRebecca to be too clever and spirited anddesperatea woman to submit without a struggle; and feltthat shemust prepare for that combatand be incessantlywatchfulagainst assault; or mineor surprise.

In thefirst placethough she held the townwas shesure ofthe principal inhabitant?  Would Miss Crawleyherselfhold out; and had she not a secret longing towelcomeback the ousted adversary?  The old lady likedRawdonand Rebeccawho amused her.  Mrs. Bute couldnotdisguise from herself the fact that none of her partycould socontribute to the pleasures of the town-bredlady. "My girls' singingafter that little odious governess'sI know isunbearable" the candid Rector's wifeowned toherself.  "She always used to go to sleep whenMartha andLouisa played their duets.  Jim's stiffcollegemanners and poor dear Bute's talk about his dogsand horsesalways annoyed her.  If I took her to theRectoryshe would grow angry with us alland flyIknow shewould; and might fall into that horridRawdon'sclutches againand be the victim of that littleviper of aSharp.  Meanwhileit is clear to me that she isexceedinglyunwelland cannot move for some weeksatany rate;during which we must think of some plan toprotecther from the arts of those unprincipled people."

In thevery best-of momentsif anybody told MissCrawleythat she wasor looked illthe trembling oldlady sentoff for her doctor; and I daresay she was veryunwellafter the sudden family eventwhich might serveto shakestronger nerves than hers.  At leastMrs. Butethought itwas her duty to inform the physicianand theapothecaryand the dame-de-compagnieand the domesticsthat MissCrawley was in a most critical stateandthat theywere to act accordingly.  She had the street laidknee-deepwith straw; and the knocker put by with Mr.Bowls'splate.  She insisted that the Doctor should calltwice aday; and deluged her patient with draughts everytwohours.  When anybody entered the roomshe uttereda shshshshso sibilant and ominousthat it frightened thepoor oldlady in her bedfrom which she couldnot lookwithout seeing Mrs. Bute's beady eyes eagerlyfixed onheras the latter sate steadfast in the arm-chairby thebedside.  They seemed to lighten in the dark (forshe keptthe curtains closed) as she moved about theroom onvelvet paws like a cat.  There Miss Crawley layfordays--ever so many days--Mr. Bute reading booksofdevotion to her: for nightslong nightsduring whichshe had tohear the watchman singthe night-light sputter;visited atmidnightthe last thingby the stealthy apothecary;and thenleft to look at Mrs. Bute's twinkling eyesor theflicks of yellow that the rushlight threw on thedrearydarkened ceiling.  Hygeia herself would havefallensick under such a regimen; and how much morethis poorold nervous victim?  It has been said that whenshe was inhealth and good spiritsthis venerableinhabitantof Vanity Fair had as free notions about religionand moralsas Monsieur de Voltaire himself could desirebut whenillness overtook herit was aggravated bythe mostdreadful terrors of deathand an utter cowardicetookpossession of the prostrate old sinner.

Sick-bedhomilies and pious reflections areto be sureout ofplace in mere story-booksand we are not going(after thefashion of some novelists of the present day)to cajolethe.public into a sermonwhen it is only acomedythat the reader pays his money to witness.  Butwithoutpreachingthe truth may surely be borne in mindthat thebustleand triumphand laughterand gaietywhichVanity Fair exhibits in publicdo not always pursuetheperformer into private lifeand that the mostdrearydepression of spirits and dismal repentancessometimesovercome him.  Recollection of the best ordainedbanquetswill scarcely cheer sick epicures.  Reminiscencesof themost becoming dresses and brilliant ball triumphswill govery little way to console faded beauties.  Perhapsstatesmenat a particular period of existencearenot muchgratified at thinking over the most triumphantdivisions;and the success or the pleasure of yesterdaybecomes ofvery small account when a certain(albeituncertain) morrow is in viewabout which all ofus mustsome day or other be speculating.  O brotherwearers ofmotley!  Are there not moments when onegrows sickof grinning and tumblingand the jingling ofcap andbells?  Thisdear friends and companionsis myamiableobject--to walk with you through the Fairtoexaminethe shops and the shows there; and that weshould allcome home after the flareand the noiseandthegaietyand be perfectly miserable in private.

"Ifthat poor man of mine had a head on his shoulders"Mrs. ButeCrawley thought to herself"how useful hemight beunder present circumstancesto this unhappyold lady! He might make her repent of her shockingfree-thinkingways; he might urge her to do her dutyand castoff that odious reprobate who has disgracedhimselfand his family; and he might induce her to dojustice tomy dear girls and the two boyswho requireanddeserveI am sureevery assistance which theirrelativescan give them."

Andasthe hatred of vice is always a progress towardsvirtueMrs. Bute Crawley endeavoured to instilhersister-in-law a proper abhorrence for all RawdonCrawley'smanifold sins: of which his uncle's wife broughtforwardsuch a catalogue as indeed would have servedto condemna whole regiment of young officers.  If a manhascommitted wrong in lifeI don't know any moralistmoreanxious to point his errors out to the world thanhis ownrelations; so Mrs. Bute showed a perfect familyinterestand knowledge of Rawdon's history.  She had alltheparticulars of that ugly quarrel with Captain Markerin whichRawdonwrong from the beginningended inshootingthe Captain.  She knew how the unhappy LordDovedalewhose mamma had taken a house at Oxfordso that hemight be educated thereand who had nevertouched acard in his life till he came to Londonwaspervertedby Rawdon at the Cocoa-Treemade helplesslytipsy bythis abominable seducer and perverter of youthandfleeced of four thousand pounds.  She described withthe mostvivid minuteness the agonies of the countryfamilieswhom he had ruined--the sons whom he hadplungedinto dishonour and poverty--the daughterswhom hehad inveigled into perdition.  She knew the poortradesmenwho were bankrupt by his extravagance--themeanshifts and rogueries with which he had ministeredto it--theastounding falsehoods by which he had imposedupon themost generous of auntsand the ingratitude andridiculeby which he had repaid her sacrifices.  Sheimpartedthese stories gradually to Miss Crawley; gave herthe wholebenefit of them; felt it to be her bounden dutyas aChristian woman and mother of a family to do so;had notthe smallest remorse or compunction for thevictimwhom her tongue was immolating; nayvery likelythoughther act was quite meritoriousand plumedherselfupon her resolute manner of performing it.  Yesif a man'scharacter is to be abusedsay what you willthere'snobody like a relation to do the business.  And oneis boundto ownregarding this unfortunate wretch of aRawdonCrawleythat the mere truth was enough tocondemnhimand that all inventions of scandal were quitesuperfluouspains on his friends' parts.

Rebeccatoobeing now a relativecame in for thefullestshare of Mrs. Bute's kind inquiries.  This indefatigablepursuer oftruth (having given strict orders that thedoor wasto be denied to all emissaries or lettersfromRawdon)took Miss Crawley's carriageand droveto her oldfriend Miss Pinkertonat Minerva HouseChiswickMallto whom she announced the dreadfulintelligenceof Captain Rawdon's seduction by Miss Sharpand fromwhom she got sundry strange particularsregardingthe ex-governess's birth and early history.  Thefriend ofthe Lexicographer had plenty of informationto give. Miss Jemima was made to fetch the drawing-master'sreceipts and letters.  This one was from aspunging-house:that entreated an advance: another wasfull ofgratitude for Rebecca's reception by the ladies ofChiswick:and the last document from the unlucky artist'spen wasthat in whichfrom his dying bedhe recommendedhis orphanchild to Miss Pinkerton's protection.  Therewerejuvenile letters and petitions from Rebeccatoointhecollectionimploring aid for her father or declaringher owngratitude.  Perhaps in Vanity Fair there are nobettersatires than letters.  Take a bundle of your dearfriend'sof ten years back--your dear friend whom youhate now. Look at a file of your sister's! how you clungto eachother till you quarrelled about the twenty-poundlegacy! Get down the round-hand scrawls of your sonwho hashalf broken your heart with selfish undutifulnesssince; ora parcel of your ownbreathing endlessardour andlove eternalwhich were sent back by yourmistresswhen she married the Nabob--your mistress forwhom younow care no more than for Queen Elizabeth.Vowslovepromisesconfidencesgratitudehow queerlythey readafter a while!  There ought to be a law inVanityFair ordering the destruction of every writtendocument(except receipted tradesmen's bills) after acertainbrief and proper interval.  Those quacks andmisanthropeswho advertise indelible Japan ink should bemade toperish along with their wicked discoveries.  Thebest inkfor Vanity Fair use would be one that fadedutterly ina couple of daysand left the paper clean andblanksothat you might write on it to somebody else.

From MissPinkerton's the indefatigable Mrs. Butefollowedthe track of Sharp and his daughter back to thelodgingsin Greek Streetwhich the defunct painter hadoccupied;and where portraits of the landlady in whitesatinandof the husband in brass buttonsdone by Sharpin lieu ofa quarter's rentstill decorated the parlourwalls. Mrs. Stokes was a communicative personandquicklytold all she knew about Mr. Sharp; how dissoluteand poorhe was; how good-natured and amusing; how hewas alwayshunted by bailiffs and duns; howto the landlady's horrorthough shenever could abide the womanhe did notmarry his wife till a short time before herdeath; andwhat a queer little wild vixen his daughterwas; howshe kept them all laughing with her fun andmimicry;how she used to fetch the gin from the public-houseand wasknown in all the studios in the quarter--in briefMrs. Butegot such a full account of her new niece'sparentageeducationand behaviour as wouldscarcelyhave pleased Rebeccahad the latter known thatsuchinquiries were being made concerning her.

Of allthese industrious researches Miss Crawley hadthe fullbenefit.  Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was the daughterof anopera-girl.  She had danced herself.  She had been amodel tothe painters.  She was brought up as becamehermother's daughter.  She drank gin with her father&c.&c. It was a lost woman who was married to a lostman; andthe moral to be inferred from Mrs. Bute'stale wasthat the knavery of the pair was irremediableand thatno properly conducted person should ever noticethemagain.

These werethe materials which prudent Mrs. Butegatheredtogether in Park Lanethe provisions andammunitionas it were with which she fortified the houseagainstthe siege which she knew that Rawdon and hiswife wouldlay to Miss Crawley.

But if afault may be found with her arrangementsitis thisthat she was too eager: she managed rather toowell;undoubtedly she made Miss Crawley more ill thanwasnecessary; and though the old invalid succumbedto herauthorityit was so harassing and severethat thevictimwould be inclined to escape at the very first chancewhich fellin her way.  Managing womenthe ornamentsof theirsex--women who order everything for everybodyand knowso much better than any person concernedwhat isgood for their neighboursdon't sometimesspeculateupon the possibility of a domestic revoltorupon otherextreme consequences resulting from theiroverstrainedauthority.

ThusforinstanceMrs. Butewith the best intentionsno doubtin the worldand wearing herself to death asshe did byforegoing sleepdinnerfresh airfor the sakeof herinvalid sister-in-lawcarried her conviction of theold lady'sillness so far that she almost managed herinto hercoffin.  She pointed out her sacrifices and theirresultsone day to the constant apothecaryMr. Clump.

"I amsuremy dear Mr. Clump" she said"no effortsof minehave been wanting to restore our dear invalidwhom theingratitude of her nephew has laid on the bedofsickness.  I never shrink from personal discomfort: Ineverrefuse to sacrifice myself."

"Yourdevotionit must be confessedis admirable"Mr. Clumpsayswith a low bow; "but--"

"Ihave scarcely closed my eyes since my arrival: Igive upsleephealthevery comfortto my sense of duty.When mypoor James was in the smallpoxdid I allow anyhirelingto nurse him?  No."

"Youdid what became an excellent mothermy dearMadam--thebest of mothers; but--~'

"Asthe mother of a family and the wife of an EnglishclergymanI humbly trust that my principles are good"Mrs. Butesaidwith a happy solemnity of conviction;"andas long as Nature supports meneverneverMr.Clumpwill I desert the post of duty.  Others may bringthat greyhead with sorrow to the bed of sickness (hereMrs. Butewaving her handpointed to one of old MissCrawley'scoffee-coloured frontswhich was perched ona stand inthe dressing-room)but I will never quit it.AhMr.Clump!  I fearI knowthat the couch needsspiritualas well as medical consolation."

"WhatI was going to observemy dear Madam"--here theresolute Clump once more interposed with ablandair--"what I was going to observe when you gaveutteranceto sentiments which do you so much honourwas that Ithink you alarm yourself needlessly about ourkindfriendand sacrifice your own health too prodigallyin herfavour."

"Iwould lay down my life for my dutyor for anymember ofmy husband's family" Mrs. Bute interposed.

"YesMadamif need were; but we don't want MrsButeCrawley to be a martyr" Clump said gallantly.  "DrSquillsand myself have both considered Miss Crawley'scase withevery anxiety and careas you may suppose.  Wesee herlow-spirited and nervous; family events haveagitatedher."

"Hernephew will come to perdition" Mrs. Crawleycried.

"Haveagitated her: and you arrived like a guardianangelmydear Madama positive guardian angelIassureyouto soothe her under the pressure of calamity.But Dr.Squills and I were thinking that our amiablefriend isnot in such a state as renders confinement to herbednecessary.  She is depressedbut this confinementperhapsadds to her depression.  She should have changefresh airgaiety; the most delightful remedies in thepharmacopoeia"Mr. Clump saidgrinning and showinghishandsome teeth.  "Persuade her to risedear Madam;drag herfrom her couch and her low spirits; insist uponher takinglittle drives.  They will restore the roses too toyourcheeksif I may so speak to Mrs. Bute Crawley."

"Thesight of her horrid nephew casually in the Parkwhere I amtold the wretch drives with the brazen partnerof hiscrimes" Mrs. Bute said (letting the cat of selfishnessout of thebag of secrecy)"would cause her sucha shockthat we should have to bring her back to bedagain. She must not go outMr. Clump.  She shall not goout aslong as I remain to watch over her; And as for myhealthwhat matters it?  I give it cheerfullysir.  I sacrificeit at thealtar of my duty."

"Uponmy wordMadam" Mr. Clump now said bluntly"Iwon't answer for her life if she remains locked upin thatdark room.  She is so nervous that we may loseher anyday; and if you wish Captain Crawley to be herheirIwarn you franklyMadamthat you are doingyour verybest to serve him."

"Graciousmercy! is her life in danger?" Mrs. Butecried. "WhywhyMr. Clumpdid you not inform mesooner?"

The nightbeforeMr. Clump and Dr. Squills had had aconsultation(over a bottle of wine at the house of SirLapinWarrenwhose lady was about to present himwith athirteenth blessing)regarding Miss Crawley andher case.

"Whata little harpy that woman from Hampshire isClump"Squills remarked"that has seized upon oldTillyCrawley.  Devilish good Madeira."

"Whata fool Rawdon Crawley has been" Clump replied"togo and marry a governess!  There was somethingabout thegirltoo."

"Greeneyesfair skinpretty figurefamous frontaldevelopment"Squills remarked.  "There is somethingabout her;and Crawley was a foolSquills."

"Ad-- fool--always was" the apothecary replied.

"Ofcourse the old girl will fling him over" said thephysicianand after a pause added"She'll cut up wellIsuppose."

"Cutup" says Clump with a grin; "I wouldn't have hercut up fortwo hundred a year."

"ThatHampshire woman will kill her in two monthsClumpmyboyif she stops about her" Dr. Squills said."Oldwoman; full feeder; nervous subject; palpitation ofthe heart;pressure on the brain; apoplexy; off she goes.Get herupClump; get her out: or I wouldn't give manyweeks'purchase for your two hundred a year." And it wasactingupon this hint that the worthy apothecary spokewith somuch candour to Mrs. Bute Crawley.

Having theold lady under her hand: in bed: with nobodynearMrs.Bute had made more than one assaultupon herto induce her to alter her will.  But Miss Crawley'susualterrors regarding death increased greatly whensuchdismal propositions were made to herand Mrs.Bute sawthat she must get her patient into cheerful spiritsand healthbefore she could hope to attain the pious objectwhich shehad in view.  Whither to take her was thenextpuzzle.  The only place where she is not likely tomeet thoseodious Rawdons is at churchand that won'tamuse herMrs. Bute justly felt.  "We must go and visitourbeautiful suburbs of London" she then thought.  "Ihear theyare the most picturesque in the world"; and soshe had asudden interest for Hampsteadand Hornseyand foundthat Dulwich had great charms for herandgettingher victim into her carriagedrove her to thoserusticspotsbeguiling the little journeys with conversationsaboutRawdon and his wifeand telling every storyto the oldlady which could add to her indignation againstthis pairof reprobates.

PerhapsMrs. Bute pulled the string unnecessarily tight.For thoughshe worked up Miss Crawley to a proper dislikeof herdisobedient nephewthe invalid had a greathatred andsecret terror of her victimizerand pantedto escapefrom her.  After a brief spaceshe rebelledagainstHighgate and Hornsey utterly.  She would go intothe Park. Mrs. Bute knew they would meet the abominableRawdonthereand she was right.  One day in theringRawdon's stanhope came in sight; Rebecca wasseated byhim.  In the enemy's equipage Miss Crawleyoccupiedher usual placewith Mrs. Bute on her leftthepoodle andMiss Briggs on the back seat.  It was a nervousmomentand Rebecca's heart beat quick as she recognized thecarriage;and as the two vehicles crossed eachother in alineshe clasped her handsand looked towardsthespinster with a face of agonized attachment and devotion.Rawdonhimself trembledand his face grew purplebehind hisdyed mustachios.  Only old Briggs was movedin theother carriageand cast her great eyes nervouslytowardsher old friends.  Miss Crawley's bonnet was resolutelyturnedtowards the Serpentine.  Mrs. Bute happened tobe inecstasies with the poodleand was calling him a littledarlingand a sweet little zoggyand a pretty pet.  Thecarriagesmoved oneach in his line.

"Doneby Jove" Rawdon said to his wife.

"Tryonce moreRawdon" Rebecca answered.  "Couldnot youlock your wheels into theirsdearest?"

Rawdon hadnot the heart for that manoeuvre.  Whenthecarriages met againhe stood up in his stanhope; heraised hishand ready to doff his hat; he looked with allhis eyes. But this time Miss Crawley's face was not turnedaway; sheand Mrs. Bute looked him full in the faceand cuttheir nephew pitilessly.  He sank back in his seatwith anoathand striking out of the ringdashed awaydesperatelyhomewards.

It was agallant and decided triumph for Mrs. Bute.But shefelt the danger of many such meetingsas shesaw theevident nervousness of Miss Crawley; and shedeterminedthat it was most necessary for her dearfriend'shealththat they should leave town for a whileandrecommended Brighton very strongly.

CHAPTER XXInWhich Captain Dobbin Acts as the Messenger of Hymen

Withoutknowing howCaptain William Dobbin foundhimselfthe great promoterarrangerand manager of thematchbetween George Osborne and Amelia.  But for himit neverwould have taken place:  he could not butconfess asmuch to himselfand smiled rather bitterly as hethoughtthat he of all men in the world should be thepersonupon whom the care of this marriage had fallen.But thoughindeed the conducting of this negotiation wasabout aspainful a task as could be set to himyet whenhe had aduty to performCaptain Dobbin was accustomedto gothrough it without many words or muchhesitation: andhaving made up his mind completelythat ifMiss Sedley was balked of her husband she woulddie of thedisappointmenthe was determined to use allhis bestendeavours to keep her alive.

I forbearto enter into minute particulars of the interviewbetweenGeorge and Ameliawhen the former wasbroughtback to the feet (or should we venture to say thearms?) ofhis young mistress by the intervention of hisfriendhonest William.  A much harder heart thanGeorge'swould have melted at the sight of that sweetface sosadly ravaged by grief and despairand at thesimpletender accents in which she told her little broken-heartedstory: but as she did not faint when her mothertremblingbrought Osborne to her; and as she only gaverelief toher overcharged griefby laying her head onherlover's shoulder and there weeping for a while themosttendercopiousand refreshing tears--old Mrs.Sedleytoo greatly relievedthought it was best to leavethe youngpersons to themselves; and so quitted Emmycryingover George's handand kissing it humblyas if hewere hersupreme chief and masterand as if she werequite aguilty and unworthy person needing every favourand gracefrom him.

Thisprostration and sweet unrepining obedienceexquisitelytouched and flattered George Osborne.  He saw aslavebefore him in that simple yielding faithful creatureand hissoul within him thrilled secretly somehowat theknowledge of his power.  He would be generous-mindedSultan as he wasand raise up this kneelingEsther andmake a queen of her:  besidesher sadnessand beautytouched him as much as her submissionandso hecheered herand raised her up and forgave hersoto speak. All her hopes and feelingswhich were dyingandwitheringthis her sun having been removed fromherbloomed again and at onceits light being restored.You wouldscarcely have recognised the beaming littleface uponAmelia's pillow that night as the one that waslaid therethe night beforeso wanso lifelesssocarelessof all round about.  The honest Irish maid-servantdelightedwith the changeasked leave to kiss the facethat hadgrown all of a sudden so rosy.  Amelia put herarms roundthe girl's neck and kissed her with all herheartlike a child.  She was little more.  She had that nighta sweetrefreshing sleeplike one--and what a spring ofinexpressiblehappiness as she woke in the morning sunshine!

"Hewill be here again to-day" Amelia thought.  "He isthegreatest and best of men."  And the fact isthatGeorgethought he was one of the generousest creaturesalive: andthat he was making a tremendous sacrifice inmarryingthis young creature.

While sheand Osborne were having their delightfultete-a-teteabove stairsold Mrs. Sedley and CaptainDobbinwere conversing below upon the state of theaffairsand the chances and future arrangements of theyoungpeople.  Mrs. Sedley having brought the two loverstogetherand left them embracing each other with all theirmightlike a true womanwas of opinion that no poweron earthwould induce Mr. Sedley to consent to the matchbetweenhis daughter and the son of a man who had soshamefullywickedlyand monstrously treated him.  Andshe told along story about happier days and their earliersplendourswhen Osborne lived in a very humble way inthe NewRoadand his wife was too glad to receive someof Jos'slittle baby thingswith which Mrs. Sedleyaccommodatedher at the birth of one of Osborne's ownchildren. The fiendish ingratitude of that manshe wassurehadbroken Mr. S.'s heart: and as for a marriagehe wouldnevernevernevernever consent.

"Theymust run away togetherMa'am" Dobbin saidlaughing"and follow the example of Captain RawdonCrawleyand Miss Emmy's friend the little governess."Was itpossible? Well she never!  Mrs. Sedley was allexcitementabout this news.  She wished that Blenkinsop werehere tohear it:  Blenkinsop always mistrusted that MissSharp.--Whatan escape Jos had had! and she describedthealready well-known love-passages between Rebecca andtheCollector of Boggley Wollah.

It wasnothoweverMr. Sedley's wrath which Dobbinfearedsomuch as that of the other parent concernedand heowned that he had a very considerable doubtandanxiety respecting the behaviour of the black-browedold tyrantof a Russia merchant in Russell Square.  Hehasforbidden the match peremptorilyDobbin thought.He knewwhat a savage determined man Osborne wasandhow hestuck by his word.  The only chance George hasofreconcilement" argued his friend"is by distinguishinghimself inthe coming campaign.  If he dies they both gotogether. If he fails in distinction--what then?  He hassome moneyfrom his motherI have heard enough topurchasehis majority--or he must sell out and go anddig inCanadaor rough it in a cottage in the country."With sucha partner Dobbin thought he would not mindSiberia--andstrange to saythis absurd and utterlyimprudentyoung fellow never for a moment considered thatthe wantof means to keep a nice carriage and horsesand of anincome which should enable its possessors toentertaintheir friends genteellyought to operate as barsto theunion of George and Miss Sedley.

It wasthese weighty considerations which made himthink toothat the marriage should take place as quicklyaspossible.  Was he anxious himselfI wonderto have itover.?--aspeoplewhen death has occurredlike to pressforwardthe funeralor when a parting is resolved uponhastenit.  It is certain that Mr. Dobbinhaving taken thematter inhandwas most extraordinarily eager in theconduct ofit.  He urged on George the necessity of immediateaction: he showed the chances of reconciliation withhisfatherwhich a favourable mention of his name in theGazettemust bring about.  If need were he would go himselfand braveboth the fathers in the business.  At alleventshebesought George to go through with it beforethe orderscamewhich everybody expectedfor thedepartureof the regiment from England on foreign service.

Bent uponthese hymeneal projectsand with the applauseandconsent of Mrs. Sedleywho did not care tobreak thematter personally to her husbandMr. Dobbinwent toseek John Sedley at his house of call in the CitytheTapioca Coffee-housewheresince his own officeswere shutupand fate had overtaken himthe poorbroken-downold gentleman used to betake himself dailyand writeletters and receive themand tie them up intomysteriousbundlesseveral of which he carried in theflaps ofhis coat.  I don't know anything more dismal thanthatbusiness and bustle and mystery of a ruined man:  thoselettersfrom the wealthy which he shows you:  those worngreasydocuments promising support and offeringcondolencewhich he places wistfully before youand onwhich hebuilds his hopes of restoration and future fortune.My belovedreader has no doubt in the course ofhisexperience been waylaid by many such a lucklesscompanion. He takes you into the corner; he has his bundleof papersout of his gaping coat pocket; and the tape offand thestring in his mouthand the favourite lettersselectedand laid before you; and who does not know thesad eagerhalf-crazy look which he fixes on you with hishopelesseyes?

Changedinto a man of this sortDobbin found theoncefloridjovialand prosperous John Sedley.  Hiscoatthatused to be so glossy and trimwas white at theseamsandthe buttons showed the copper.  His face hadfallen inand was unshorn; his frill and neckcloth hunglimp underhis bagging waistcoat.  When he used to treatthe boysin old days at a coffee-househe would shoutand laughlouder than anybody thereand have all thewaitersskipping round him; it was quite painful to seehow humbleand civil he was to John of the Tapiocaablear-eyedold attendant in dingy stockings and crackedpumpswhose business it was to serve glasses of wafersandbumpers of ink in pewterand slices of paper to thefrequentersof this dreary house of entertainmentwherenothingelse seemed to be consumed.  As for WilliamDobbinwhom he had tipped repeatedly in his youthandwho hadbeen the old gentleman's butt on a thousandoccasionsold Sedley gave his hand to him in a veryhesitatinghumble manner nowand called him "Sir." Afeeling ofshame and remorse took possession of WilliamDobbin asthe broken old man so received and addressedhimas ifhe himself had been somehow guilty of themisfortuneswhich had brought Sedley so low.

"I amvery glad to see youCaptain Dobbinsir" saysheaftera skulking look or two at his visitor (whose lankyfigure andmilitary appearance caused some excitementlikewiseto twinkle in the blear eyes of the waiter in thecrackeddancing pumpsand awakened the old lady inblackwhodozed among the mouldy old coffee-cups in thebar). "How is the worthy aldermanand my ladyyourexcellentmothersir?"  He looked round at the waiter ashe said"My lady" as much as to say"Hark yeJohnIhavefriends stilland persons of rank and reputationtoo." "Are you come to do anything in my waysir?  Myyoungfriends Dale and Spiggot do all my business for menowuntilmy new offices are ready; for I'm only heretemporarilyyou knowCaptain.  What can we do for you.sir? Will you like to take anything?"

Dobbinwith a great deal of hesitation and stutteringprotestedthat he was not in the least hungry or thirsty;that hehad no business to transact; that he only cameto ask ifMr. Sedley was welland to shake hands withan oldfriend; andhe addedwith a desperate perversionof truth"My mother is very well--that isshe's been veryunwelland is only waiting for the first fine day to go outand callupon Mrs. Sedley.  How is Mrs. Sedleysir?  Ihope she'squite well."  And here he pausedreflecting onhis ownconsummate hypocrisy; for the day was as fineand thesunshine as bright as it ever is in Coffin Courtwhere theTapioca Coffee-house is situated: and Mr.Dobbinremembered that he had seen Mrs. Sedley himselfonly anhour beforehaving driven Osborne down to Fulhamin hisgigand left him there tete-a-tete with Miss Amelia.

"Mywife will be very happy to see her ladyship"Sedleyrepliedpulling out his papers.  "I've a very kindletterhere from your fathersirand beg my respectfulcomplimentsto him.  Lady D. will find us in rather asmallerhouse than we were accustomed to receive ourfriendsin; but it's snugand the change of air does goodto mydaughterwho was suffering in town rather--yourememberlittle Emmysir?--yessuffering a good deal."The oldgentleman's eyes were wandering as he spokeandhe wasthinking of something elseas he sate thrummingon hispapers and fumbling at the worn red tape.

"You'rea military man" he went on; "I ask youBillDobbincould any man ever have speculated upon thereturn ofthat Corsican scoundrel from Elba?  When thealliedsovereigns were here last yearand we gave 'emthatdinner in the Citysirand we saw the Temple ofConcordand the fireworksand the Chinese bridge inSt.James's Parkcould any sensible man suppose thatpeacewasn't really concludedafter we'd actually sung TeDeum foritsir?  I ask youWilliamcould I suppose thattheEmperor of Austria was a damned traitor--a traitorandnothing more?  I don't mince words--a double-facedinfernaltraitor and schemerwho meant to have his son-in-lawback all along.  And I say that the escape of Boneyfrom Elbawas a damned imposition and plotsirinwhich halfthe powers of Europe were concernedtobring thefunds downand to ruin this country.  That'swhy I'mhereWilliam.  That's why my name's in theGazette. Whysir?--because I trusted the Emperor ofRussia andthe Prince Regent.  Look here.  Look at mypapers. Look what the funds were on the 1st of March--what theFrench fives were when I bought for thecount. And what they're at now.  There was collusionsiror thatvillain never would have escaped.  Where was theEnglishCommissioner who allowed him to get away?  Heought tobe shotsir--brought to a court-martialandshotbyJove."

"We'regoing to hunt Boney outsir" Dobbin saidratheralarmed at the fury of the old manthe veins ofwhoseforehead began to swelland who sate drumminghis paperswith his clenched fist.  "We are going to hunthim outsir--the Duke's in Belgium alreadyand weexpectmarching orders every day."

"Givehim no quarter.  Bring back the villain's headsir.Shoot thecoward downsir" Sedley roared.  "I'd enlistmyselfby--; but I'm a broken old man--ruined bythatdamned scoundrel--and by a parcel of swindlingthieves inthis country whom I madesirand who arerolling intheir carriages now" he addedwith a break inhis voice.

Dobbin wasnot a little affected by the sight of this oncekind oldfriendcrazed almost with misfortune and ravingwithsenile anger.  Pity the fallen gentleman: you to whommoney andfair repute are the chiefest good; and sosurelyare they in Vanity Fair.

"Yes"he continued"there are some vipers that youwarmandthey sting you afterwards.  There are somebeggarsthat you put on horsebackand they're the firstto rideyou down.  You know whom I meanWilliamDobbinmyboy.  I mean a purse-proud villain in RussellSquarewhom I knew without a shillingand whom Ipray andhope to see a beggar as he was when Ibefriendedhim."

"Ihave heard something of thissirfrom my friendGeorge"Dobbin saidanxious to come to his point.  "Thequarrelbetween you and his father has cut him up a greatdealsir.  IndeedI'm the bearer of a message from him."

"OTHAT'S your errandis it?" cried the old manjumpingup.  "What! perhaps he condoles with medoes he?Very kindof himthe stiff-backed prigwith his dandifiedairs andWest End swagger.  He's hankering about myhouseishe still?  If my son had the courage of a manhe'd shoothim.  He's as big a villain as his father.  I won'thave hisname mentioned in my house.  I curse the daythat everI let him into it; and I'd rather see my daughterdead at myfeet than married to him."

"Hisfather's harshness is not George's faultsir.  Yourdaughter'slove for him is as much your doing as his.  Whoare youthat you are to play with two young people'saffectionsand break their hearts at your will?"

"Recollectit's not his father that breaks the match off"old Sedleycried out.  "It's I that forbid it.  That family andmine areseparated for ever.  I'm fallen lowbut not solow asthat: nono.  And so you may tell the whole race--sonandfather and sistersand all."

"It'smy beliefsirthat you have not the power or theright toseparate those two" Dobbin answered in a lowvoice;"and that if you don't give your daughter yourconsent itwill be her duty to marry without it.  There's noreason sheshould die or live miserably because youarewrong-headed.  To my thinkingshe's just as muchmarried asif the banns had been read in all the churches inLondon. And what better answer can there be to Osborne'schargesagainst youas charges there arethanthat hisson claims to enter your family and marry yourdaughter?"

A light ofsomething like satisfaction seemed to breakover oldSedley as this point was put to him: but he stillpersistedthat with his consent the marriage betweenAmelia andGeorge should never take place.

"Wemust do it without" Dobbin saidsmilingand toldMr.Sedleyas he had told Mrs. Sedley in the daybeforethe storyof Rebecca's elopement with Captain Crawley.  Itevidentlyamused the old gentleman.  "You're terriblefellowsyou Captains" said hetying up his papers; and hisface woresomething like a smile upon itto the astonishmentof theblear-eyed waiter who now enteredand hadnever seensuch an expression upon Sedley's countenancesince hehad used the dismal coffee-house.

The ideaof hitting his enemy Osborne such a blowsoothedperhapsthe old gentleman: andtheir colloquypresentlyendinghe and Dobbin parted pretty good friends.

"Mysisters say she has diamonds as big as pigeons'eggs"George saidlaughing.  "How they must set off hercomplexion! A perfect illumination it must be when herjewels areon her neck.  Her jet-black hair is as curly asSambo's. I dare say she wore a nose ring when she wentto court;and with a plume of feathers in her top-knotshe wouldlook a perfect Belle Sauvage."

Georgeinconversation with Ameliawas rallying theappearanceof a young lady of whom his father and sistershad latelymade the acquaintanceand who was an objectof vastrespect to the Russell Square family.  She was reportedto have Idon't know how many plantations in theWestIndies; a deal of money in the funds; and threestars toher name in the East India stockholders' list.  Shehad amansion in Surreyand a house in Portland Place.The nameof the rich West India heiress had been mentionedwithapplause in the Morning Post.  Mrs. HaggistounColonelHaggistoun's widowher relative"chaperoned"herandkept her house.  She was just from schoolwhereshe hadcompleted her educationand George and hissistershad met her at an evening party at old Hulker'shouseDevonshire Place (HulkerBullockand Co. werelong thecorrespondents of her house in the West Indies)and thegirls had made the most cordial advances to herwhich theheiress had received with great good humour.An orphanin her position--with her money--so interesting!the MissesOsborne said.  They were full of their newfriendwhen they returned from the Hulker ball to MissWirttheir companion; they had made arrangements forcontinuallymeetingand had the carriage and drove to seeher thevery next day.  Mrs. HaggistounColonel Haggistoun'swidowarelation of Lord Binkieand always talkingof himstruck the dear unsophisticated girls as ratherhaughtyand too much inclined to talk about her greatrelations:but Rhoda was everything they could wish--thefrankestkindestmost agreeable creature--wanting alittlepolishbut so good-natured.  The girls Christian-named eachother at once.

"Youshould have seen her dress for courtEmmy"Osbornecriedlaughing.  "She came to my sisters to showit offbefore she was presented in state by my LadyBinkiethe Haggistoun's kinswoman.  She's related to everyonethatHaggistoun.  Her diamonds blazed out likeVauxhallon the night we were there.  (Do you rememberVauxhallEmmyand Jos singing to his dearest diddlediddledarling?)  Diamonds and mahoganymy dear!think whatan advantageous contrast--and the whitefeathersin her hair--I mean in her wool.  She hadearringslike chandeliers; you might have lighted 'emupbyJove--and a yellow satin train that streeled afterher likethe tail of a cornet."

"Howold is she?" asked Emmyto whom George wasrattlingaway regarding this dark paragonon the morningof theirreunion--rattling away as no other man in theworldsurely could.

"Whythe Black Princessthough she has only just leftschoolmust be two or three and twenty.  And you shouldsee thehand she writes!  Mrs. Colonel Haggistoun usuallywrites herlettersbut in a moment of confidenceshe putpen topaper for my sisters; she spelt satin sattingandSaintJames'sSaint Jams."

"Whysurely it must be Miss Swartzthe parlourboarder"Emmy saidremembering that good-naturedyoungmulatto girlwho had been so hysterically affectedwhenAmelia left Miss Pinkerton's academy

"Thevery name" George said.  "Her father was a GermanJew--aslave-owner they say--connected with theCannibalIslands in some way or other.  He died last yearand MissPinkerton has finished her education.  She canplay twopieces on the piano; she knows three songs;she canwrite when Mrs. Haggistoun is by to spell for her;and Janeand Maria already have got to love her as asister."

"Iwish they would have loved me" said Emmywistfully."Theywere always very cold to me."

"Mydear childthey would have loved you if you hadhad twohundred thousand pounds" George replied.  "Thatis the wayin which they have been brought up.  Ours isaready-money society.  We live among bankers and Citybig-wigsand be hanged to themand every manas hetalks toyouis jingling his guineas in his pocket.  There isthatjackass Fred Bullock is going to marry Maria--there'sGoldmorethe East India Directorthere's Dipleyin thetallow trade--OUR trade" George saidwith anuneasylaugh and a blush.  "Curse the whole pack of money-grubbingvulgarians!  I fall asleep at their great heavydinners. I feel ashamed in my father's great stupidparties. I've been accustomed to live with gentlemenandmen of theworld and fashionEmmynot with a parcelofturtle-fed tradesmen.  Dear little womanyou are the onlyperson ofour set who ever lookedor thoughtor spokelike alady: and you do it because you're an angel andcan't helpit.  Don't remonstrate.  You are the only lady.Didn'tMiss Crawley remark itwho has lived in thebestcompany in Europe?  And as for Crawleyof the LifeGuardshang ithe's a fine fellow: and I like him formarryingthe girl he had chosen."

Ameliaadmired Mr. Crawley very muchtoofor this;andtrusted Rebecca would be happy with himand hoped(with alaugh) Jos would be consoled.  And so the pairwent onprattlingas in quite early days.  Amelia'sconfidencebeing perfectly restored to herthough sheexpresseda great deal of pretty jealousy about Miss Swartzandprofessed to be dreadfully frightened--like a hypocriteas shewas--lest George should forget her for theheiressand her money and her estates in Saint Kitt's.  Butthe factisshe was a great deal too happy to have fearsor doubtsor misgivings of any sort: and having Georgeat herside againwas not afraid of any heiress or beautyor indeedof any sort of danger.

WhenCaptain Dobbin came back in the afternoon tothesepeople--which he did with a great deal of sympathyforthem--it did his heart good to see how Amelia hadgrownyoung again--how she laughedand chirpedandsangfamiliar old songs at the pianowhich were onlyinterruptedby the bell from without proclaiming Mr.Sedley'sreturn from the Citybefore whom George received asignal toretreat.

Beyond thefirst smile of recognition--and even that wasanhypocrisyfor she thought his arrival rather provoking--MissSedley did not once notice Dobbin during hisvisit. But he was contentso that he saw her happy; andthankfulto have been the means of making her so.

CHAPTERXXIAQuarrel About an Heiress

Love maybe felt for any young lady endowed with suchqualitiesas Miss Swartz possessed; and a great dream ofambitionentered into old Mr. Osborne's soulwhich shewas torealize.  He encouragedwith the utmost enthusiasmandfriendlinesshis daughters' amiable attachment to theyoungheiressand protested that it gave him the sincerestpleasureas a father to see the love of his girls so well disposed.

"Youwon't find" he would say to Miss Rhoda"thatsplendourand rank to which you are accustomed at theWest Endmy dear Missat our humble mansion in RussellSquare. My daughters are plaindisinterested girlsbuttheirhearts are in the right placeand they've conceivedanattachment for you which does them honour--I saywhich doesthem honour.  I'm a plainsimplehumbleBritishmerchant--an honest oneas my respected friendsHulker andBullock will vouchwho were the correspondentsof yourlate lamented father.  You'll find us aunitedsimplehappyand I think I may say respectedfamily--aplain tablea plain peoplebut a warm welcomemy dearMiss Rhoda--Rhodalet me sayfor myheartwarms to youit does really.  I'm a frank manandI likeyou.  A glass of Champagne!  HicksChampagne toMissSwartz."

There islittle doubt that old Osborne believed all hesaidandthat the girls were quite earnest in theirprotestationsof affection for Miss Swartz.  People in VanityFairfasten on to rich folks quite naturally.  If the simplestpeople aredisposed to look not a little kindly ongreatProsperity (for I defy any member of the Britishpublic tosay that the notion of Wealth has not somethingawful andpleasing to him; and youif you are told thatthe mannext you at dinner has got half a millionnot tolook athim with a certain interest)--if the simple lookbenevolentlyon moneyhow much more do your oldworldlingsregard it!  Their affections rush out to meet andwelcomemoney.  Their kind sentiments awaken spontaneouslytowardsthe interesting possessors of it.  I knowsomerespectable people who don't consider themselvesat libertyto indulge in friendship for any individual whohas not acertain competencyor place in society.  Theygive aloose to their feelings on proper occasions.  Andthe proofisthat the major part of the Osborne familywho hadnotin fifteen yearsbeen able to get up aheartyregard for Amelia Sedleybecame as fond of MissSwartz inthe course of a single evening as the mostromanticadvocate of friendship at first sight could desire.

What amatch for George she'd be (the sisters andMiss Wirtagreed)and how much better than thatinsignificantlittle Amelia!  Such a dashing young fellow ashe iswith his good looksrankand accomplishmentswould bethe very husband for her.  Visions of balls inPortlandPlacepresentations at Courtand introductionsto halfthe peeragefilled the minds of the young ladies;who talkedof nothing but George and his grandacquaintancesto their beloved new friend.

OldOsborne thought she would be a great matchtoofor hisson.  He should leave the army; he should go intoParliament;he should cut a figure in the fashion and inthestate.  His blood boiled with honest British exultationas he sawthe name of Osborne ennobled in the personof hissonand thought that he might be the progenitor ofa gloriousline of baronets.  He worked in the City and on'Changeuntil he knew everything relating to the fortuneof theheiresshow her money was placedand where herestateslay.  Young Fred Bullockone of his chief informantswould haveliked to make a bid for her himself(it was sothe young banker expressed it)only he wasbooked toMaria Osborne.  But not being able to secureher as awifethe disinterested Fred quite approved of heras asister-in-law.  "Let George cut in directly and winher"was his advice.  "Strike while the iron's hotyouknow--whileshe's fresh to the town: in a few weekssome d--fellow from the West End will come in with atitle anda rotten rent-roll and cut all us City men outasLordFitzrufus did last year with Miss Grogramwho wasactuallyengaged to Podderof Podder & Brown's.  Thesooner itis done the betterMr. Osborne; them's mysentiments"the wag said; thoughwhen Osborne had leftthe bankparlourMr. Bullock remembered Ameliaandwhat apretty girl she wasand how attached to GeorgeOsborne;and he gave up at least ten seconds of hisvaluabletime to regretting the misfortune which hadbefallenthat unlucky young woman.

While thusGeorge Osborne's good feelingsand hisgoodfriend and geniusDobbinwere carrying back thetruant toAmelia's feetGeorge's parent and sisters werearrangingthis splendid match for himwhich they neverdreamed hewould resist.

When theelder Osborne gave what he called "a hint"there wasno possibility for the most obtuse to mistakehismeaning.  He called kicking a footman downstairs ahint tothe latter to leave his service.  With his usualfranknessand delicacy he told Mrs. Haggistoun that hewould giveher a cheque for five thousand pounds on theday hisson was married to her ward; and called thatproposal ahintand considered it a very dexterous pieceofdiplomacy.  He gave George finally such another hintregardingthe heiress; and ordered him to marry her outof handas he would have ordered his butler to draw acorkorhis clerk to write a letter.

Thisimperative hint disturbed George a good deal.  Hewas in thevery first enthusiasm and delight of his secondcourtshipof Ameliawhich was inexpressibly sweetto him. The contrast of her manners and appearance withthose ofthe heiressmade the idea of a union with thelatterappear doubly ludicrous and odious.  Carriages andopera-boxesthought he; fancy being seen in them by theside ofsuch a mahogany charmer as that!  Add to allthat thejunior Osborne was quite as obstinate as thesenior:when he wanted a thingquite as firm in hisresolutionto get it; and quite as violent when angeredas hisfather in his most stern moments.

On thefirst day when his father formally gave him thehint thathe was to place his affections at Miss Swartz'sfeetGeorge temporised with the old gentleman.  "Youshouldhave thought of the matter soonersir" he said."Itcan't be done nowwhen we're expecting every dayto go onforeign service.  Wait till my returnif I doreturn";and then he representedthat the time when theregimentwas daily expecting to quit Englandwasexceedinglyill-chosen: that the few days or weeks duringwhich theywere still to remain at homemust bedevoted tobusiness and not to love-making: time enoughfor thatwhen he came home with his majority; "forIpromiseyou" said hewith a satisfied air"that oneway orother you shall read the name of George Osbornein theGazette."

Thefather's reply to this was founded upon theinformationwhich he had got in the City: that the WestEnd chapswould infallibly catch hold of the heiress ifany delaytook place: that if he didn't marry Miss S.hemight atleast have an engagement in writingto comeintoeffect when he returned to England; and that a manwho couldget ten thousand a year by staying at homewas a foolto risk his life abroad.

"Sothat you would have me shown up as a cowardsirand ourname dishonoured for the sake of Miss Swartz'smoney"George interposed.

Thisremark staggered the old gentleman; but as hehad toreply to itand as his mind was neverthelessmade uphe said"You will dine here to-morrowsirand everyday Miss Swartz comesyou will be here topay yourrespects to her.  If you want for moneycallupon Mr.Chopper." Thus a new obstacle was in George'swaytointerfere with his plans regarding Amelia; andaboutwhich he and Dobbin had more than one confidentialconsultation. His friend's opinion respecting theline ofconduct which he ought to pursuewe knowalready. And as for Osbornewhen he was once bent on athingafresh obstacle or two only rendered him themoreresolute.

The darkobject of the conspiracy into which the chiefsof theOsborne family had enteredwas quite ignorant ofall theirplans regarding her (whichstrange to sayherfriend andchaperon did not divulge)andtaking all theyoungladies' flattery for genuine sentimentand beingas we havebefore had occasion to showof a verywarm andimpetuous natureresponded to their affectionwith quitea tropical ardour.  And if the truth may be toldI dare saythat she too had some selfish attraction in theRussellSquare house; and in a wordthought GeorgeOsborne avery nice young man.  His whiskers had madeanimpression upon heron the very first night shebeheldthem at the ball at Messrs. Hulkers; andas weknowshewas not the first woman who had beencharmed bythem.  George had an air at once swaggeringandmelancholylanguid and fierce.  He looked like aman whohad passionssecretsand private harrowinggriefs andadventures.  His voice was rich and deep.  Hewould sayit was a warm eveningor ask his partner totake anicewith a tone as sad and confidential as if hewerebreaking her mother's death to heror preluding adeclarationof love.  He trampled over all the young bucksof hisfather's circleand was the hero among thosethird-ratemen.  Some few sneered at him and hated him.SomelikeDobbinfanatically admired him.  And his whiskershad begunto do their workand to curl themselvesround theaffections of Miss Swartz.

Wheneverthere was a chance of meeting him in RussellSquarethat simple and good-natured young womanwas quitein a flurry to see her dear Misses Osborne.  Shewent togreat expenses in new gownsand braceletsandbonnetsand in prodigious feathers.  She adorned herpersonwith her utmost skill to please the Conquerorandexhibited all her simple accomplishments to win hisfavour. The girls would ask herwith the greatestgravityfor a little musicand she would sing her threesongs andplay her two little pieces as often as evertheyaskedand with an always increasing pleasure toherself. During these delectable entertainmentsMissWirt andthe chaperon sate byand conned over thepeerageand talked about the nobility.

The dayafter George had his hint from his fatheranda shorttime before the hour of dinnerhe was lollingupon asofa in the drawing-room in a very becomingandperfectly natural attitude of melancholy.  He hadbeenathis father's requestto Mr. Chopper in the City(theold-gentlemanthough he gave great sums to hissonwouldnever specify any fixed allowance for himandrewarded him only as he was in the humour).  Hehad thenbeen to pass three hours with Ameliahisdearlittle Ameliaat Fulham; and he came home tofind hissisters spread in starched muslin in the drawing-roomthedowagers cackling in the backgroundandhonestSwartz in her favourite amber-coloured satinwithturquoisebraceletscountless ringsflowersfeathersandall sortsof tags and gimcracksabout as elegantlydecoratedas a she chimney-sweep on May-day.

The girlsafter vain attempts to engage him in conversationtalkedabout fashions and the last drawing-roomuntil hewas perfectly sick of their chatter.  Hecontrastedtheir behaviour with little Emmy's--theirshrillvoices with her tender ringing tones; their attitudesand theirelbows and their starchwith her humble softmovementsand modest graces.  Poor Swartz was seatedin a placewhere Emmy had been accustomed to sit.Herbejewelled hands lay sprawling in her amber satinlap. Her tags and ear-rings twinkledand her big eyesrolledabout.  She was doing nothing with perfect contentmentandthinking herself charming.  Anything so becomingas thesatin the sisters had never seen.

"Dammy"George said to a confidential friend"shelookedlike a China dollwhich has nothing to do all daybut togrin and wag its head.  By JoveWillit was all II could doto prevent myself from throwing the sofa-cushion ather." He restrained that exhibition ofsentimenthowever.

Thesisters began to play the Battle of Prague.  "Stopthat d--thing" George howled out in a fury from thesofa. "It makes me mad.  You play us somethingMissSwartzdo.  Sing somethinganything but the Battle ofPrague."

"ShallI sing 'Blue Eyed Mary' or the air from theCabinet?"Miss Swartz asked.

"Thatsweet thing from the Cabinet" the sisters said.

"We'vehad that" replied the misanthrope on the sofa

"Ican sing 'Fluvy du Tajy' " Swartz saidin a meekvoice"ifI had the words." It was the last of the worthyyoungwoman's collection.

"O'Fleuve du Tage' " Miss Maria cried; "we have thesong"and went off to fetch the book in which it was.

Now ithappened that this songthen in the height ofthefashionhad been given to the young ladies by a youngfriend oftheirswhose name was on the titleand MissSwartzhaving concluded the ditty with George's applause(for heremembered that it was a favourite of Amelia's)was hopingfor an encore perhapsand fiddling with theleaves ofthe musicwhen her eye fell upon the titleandshe saw"Amelia Sedley" written in the comer.

"Lor!"cried Miss Swartzspinning swiftly round onthemusic-stool"is it my Amelia?  Amelia that was atMiss P.'sat Hammersmith?  I know it is.  It's her.  and--Tell meabout her--where is she?"

"Don'tmention her" Miss Maria Osborne saidhastily. "Her family has disgraced itself.  Her fathercheatedPapaand as for hershe is never to be mentionedHERE."This was Miss Maria's return for George'srudenessabout the Battle of Prague.

"Areyou a friend of Amelia's?" George saidbouncingup. "God bless you for itMiss Swartz.  Don't believewhatthegirls say.  SHE'S not to blame at any rate.She's thebest--"

"Youknow you're not to speak about herGeorge"criedJane.  "Papa forbids it."

"Who'sto prevent me?" George cried out.  "I will speakof her. I say she's the bestthe kindestthe gentlestthesweetestgirl in England; and thatbankrupt or nomysistersare not fit to hold candles to her.  If you like hergo and seeherMiss Swartz; she wants friends now; andI sayGodbless everybody who befriends her.  Anybodywho speakskindly of her is my friend; anybody whospeaksagainst her is my enemy.  Thank youMiss Swartz";and hewent up and wrung her hand.

"George!George!" one of the sisters cried imploringly.

"Isay" George said fiercely"I thank everybody wholovesAmelia Sed--" He stopped.  Old Osborne was inthe roomwith a face livid with rageand eyes like hotcoals.

ThoughGeorge had stopped in his sentenceyethisbloodbeing uphe was not to be cowed by all thegenerationsof Osborne; rallying instantlyhe replied tothebullying look of his fatherwith another so indicativeofresolution and defiance that the elder man quailed inhis turnand looked away.  He felt that the tussle wascoming. "Mrs. Haggistounlet me take you down to dinner"he said. "Give your arm to Miss SwartzGeorge"and theymarched.

"MissSwartzI love Ameliaand we've been engagedalmost allour lives" Osborne said to his partner; andduring allthe dinnerGeorge rattled on with a volubilitywhichsurprised himselfand made his father doublynervousfor the fight which was to take place as soon asthe ladieswere gone.

Thedifference between the pair wasthat while thefather wasviolent and a bullythe son had thrice thenerve andcourage of the parentand could not merelymake anattackbut resist it; and finding that the momentwas nowcome when the contest between him andhis fatherwas to be decidedhe took his dinner withperfectcoolness and appetite before the engagementbegan. Old Osborneon the contrarywas nervousanddrankmuch.  He floundered in his conversation with theladieshis neighbours: George's coolness only renderinghim moreangry.  It made him half mad to see the calmway inwhich Georgeflapping his napkinand with aswaggeringbowopened the door for the ladies to leavethe room;and filling himself a glass of winesmacked itand lookedhis father full in the faceas if to say"Gentlemenof the Guardfire first." The old man also took asupply ofammunitionbut his decanter clinked againstthe glassas he tried to fill it.

Aftergiving a great heaveand with a purple chokingfacehethen began.  "How dare yousirmention thatperson'sname before Miss Swartz to-dayin my drawing-room? Iask yousirhow dare you do it?"

"Stopsir" says George"don't say daresir.  Dareisn't aword to be used to a Captain in the British Army."

"Ishall say what I like to my sonsir.  I can cut him offwith ashilling if I like.  I can make him a beggar if I like.I WILL saywhat I like" the elder said.

"I'ma gentleman though I AM your sonsir" Georgeansweredhaughtily.  "Any communications which youhave tomake to meor any orders which you mayplease togiveI beg may be couched in that kind oflanguagewhich I am accustomed to hear."

Wheneverthe lad assumed his haughty manneritalwayscreated either great awe or great irritation in theparent. Old Osborne stood in secret terror of his son as abettergentleman than himself; and perhaps my readersmay haveremarked in their experience of this Vanity Fairof oursthat there is no character which a low-mindedman somuch mistrusts as that of a gentleman.

"Myfather didn't give me the education you have hadnor theadvantages you have hadnor the money youhave had. If I had kept the company SOME FOLKS havehadthrough MY MEANSperhaps my son wouldn't haveany reasonto bragsirof his SUPERIORITY and WEST ENDAIRS(these words were uttered in the elder Osborne'smostsarcastic tones).  But it wasn't considered the partof agentlemanin MY timefor a man to insult his father.If I'ddone any such thingmine would have kicked medownstairssir."

"Inever insulted yousir.  I said I begged you torememberyour son was a gentleman as well as yourself.I knowvery well that you give me plenty of money"saidGeorge (fingering a bundle of notes which he hadgot in themorning from Mr. Chopper).  "You tell it meoftenenoughsir.  There's no fear of my forgetting it."

"Iwish you'd remember other things as wellsir" thesireanswered.  "I wish you'd remember that in this house--so longas you choose to HONOUR it with your COMPANYCaptain--I'mthe masterand that nameand thatthat--thatyou--that I say--"

"Thatwhatsir?" George askedwith scarcely a sneerfillinganother glass of claret.

"--!"burst out his father with a screaming oath--"thatthe name of those Sedleys never be mentionedheresir--not one of the whole damned lot of 'emsir."

"Itwasn't Isirthat introduced Miss Sedley's name.  Itwas mysisters who spoke ill of her to Miss Swartz; andby JoveI'll defend her wherever I go.  Nobody shallspeaklightly of that name in my presence.  Our familyhas doneher quite enough injury alreadyI thinkandmay leaveoff reviling her now she's down.  I'll shoot anyman butyou who says a word against her."

"Goonsirgo on" the old gentleman saidhis eyesstartingout of his head.

"Goon about whatsir? about the way in which we'vetreatedthat angel of a girl?  Who told me to love her?  Itwas yourdoing.  I might have chosen elsewhereandlookedhigherperhapsthan your society: but I obeyedyou. And now that her heart's mine you give me ordersto flingit awayand punish herkill her perhaps--forthe faultsof other people.  It's a shameby Heavens"saidGeorgeworking himself up into passion andenthusiasmas he proceeded"to play at fast and loose witha younggirl's affections--and with such an angel as that--one sosuperior to the people amongst whom she livedthat shemight have excited envyonly she was so goodandgentlethat it's a wonder anybody dared to hate her.If Idesert hersirdo you suppose she forgets me?"

"Iain't going to have any of this dam sentimental nonsenseand humbugheresir" the father cried out.  "Thereshall beno beggar-marriages in my family.  If you chooseto flingaway eight thousand a yearwhich you may havefor theaskingyou may do it: but by Jove you take yourpack andwalk out of this housesir.  Will you do as I tellyouoncefor allsiror will you not?"

"Marrythat mulatto woman?" George saidpulling uphisshirt-collars.  "I don't like the coloursir.  Asktheblack thatsweeps opposite Fleet Marketsir.  I'm notgoing tomarry a Hottentot Venus."

Mr.Osborne pulled frantically at the cord by which hewasaccustomed to summon the butler when he wantedwine--andalmost black in the faceordered that functionaryto call acoach for Captain Osborne.

"I'vedone it" said Georgecoming into the Slaughters'an hourafterwardslooking very pale.

"Whatmy boy?" says Dobbin.

Georgetold what had passed between his father andhimself.

"I'llmarry her to-morrow" he said with an oath.  "Ilove hermore every dayDobbin."

CHAPTERXXIIAMarriage and Part of a Honeymoon

Enemiesthe most obstinate and courageous can't holdoutagainst starvation; so the elder Osborne felt himselfprettyeasy about his adversary in the encounter we havejustdescribed; and as soon as George's supplies fellshortconfidently expected his unconditional submission.It wasunluckyto be surethat the lad should have secureda stock ofprovisions on the very day when the firstencountertook place; but this relief was only temporaryoldOsborne thoughtand would but delay George'ssurrender. No communication passed between father andson forsome days.  The former was sulky at this silencebut notdisquieted; foras he saidhe knew where hecould putthe screw upon Georgeand only waited theresult ofthat operation.  He told the sisters the upshot ofthedispute between thembut ordered them to take nonotice ofthe matterand welcome George on his returnas ifnothing had happened.  His cover was laid as usualevery dayand perhaps the old gentleman rather anxiouslyexpectedhim; but he never came.  Some one inquiredat theSlaughters' regarding himwhere it was saidthat heand his friend Captain Dobbin had left town.

One gustyraw day at the end of April--the rain whippingthepavement of that ancient street where the oldSlaughters'Coffee-house was once situated--George Osbornecame intothe coffee-roomlooking very haggardand pale;although dressed rather smartly in a blue coatand brassbuttonsand a neat buff waistcoat of the fashionof thosedays.  Here was his friend Captain Dobbinin blueand brass toohaving abandoned the militaryfrock andFrench-grey trouserswhich were the usualcoveringsof his lanky person.

Dobbin hadbeen in the coffee-room for an hour ormore. He had tried all the papersbut could not readthem. He had looked at the clock many scores of times;and at thestreetwhere the rain was pattering downand thepeople as they clinked by in pattensleft longreflectionson the shining stone: he tattooed at the table:he bit hisnails most completelyand nearly to the quick(he wasaccustomed to ornament his great big hands inthis way):he balanced the tea-spoon dexterously on themilk jug:upset it&c.&c.; and in fact showed thosesigns ofdisquietudeand practised those desperateattemptsat amusementwhich men are accustomed toemploywhen very anxiousand expectantand perturbedin mind.

Some ofhis comradesgentlemen who used the roomjoked himabout the splendour of his costume and hisagitationof manner.  One asked him if he was going to bemarried? Dobbin laughedand said he would send hisacquaintance(Major Wagstaff of the Engineers) a piece ofcake whenthat event took place.  At length Captain Osbornemade hisappearancevery smartly dressedbutvery paleand agitated as we have said.  He wiped hispale facewith a large yellow bandanna pocket-handkerchiefthat wasprodigiously scented.  He shook hands withDobbinlooked at the clockand told Johnthe waiterto bringhim some curacao.  Of this cordial he swallowedoff acouple of glasses with nervous eagerness.His friendasked with some interest about his health.

"Couldn'tget a wink of sleep till daylightDob" saidhe. "Infernal headache and fever.  Got up at nineandwent downto the Hummums for a bath.  I sayDobI feeljust as Idid on the morning I went out with Rocket atQuebec."

"Sodo I" William responded.  "I was a deuced dealmorenervous than you were that morning.  You made afamousbreakfastI remember.  Eat something now."

"You'rea good old fellowWill.  I'll drink your healthold boyand farewell to--"

"Nono; two glasses are enough" Dobbin interruptedhim. "Heretake away the liqueursJohn.  Have somecayenne-pepperwith your fowl.  Make haste thoughfor itis time wewere there."

It wasabout half an hour from twelve when thisbriefmeeting and colloquy took place between the twocaptains. A coachinto which Captain Osborne's servantput hismaster's desk and dressing-casehad been inwaitingfor some time; and into this the two gentlemenhurriedunder an umbrellaand the valet mounted on theboxcursing the rain and the dampness of the coachmanwho wassteaming beside him.  "We shall find a bettertrap thanthis at the church-door" says he; "that's acomfort."And the carriage drove ontaking the roaddownPiccadillywhere Apsley House and St. George'sHospitalwore red jackets still; where there were oil-lamps;where Achilles was not yet born; nor the Pimlicoarchraised; nor the hideous equestrian monster whichpervadesit and the neighbourhood; and so they drovedown byBrompton to a certain chapel near the FulhamRoadthere.

A chariotwas in waiting with four horses; likewise acoach ofthe kind called glass coaches.  Only a very fewidlerswere collected on account of the dismal rain.

"Hangit!" said George"I said only a pair."

"Mymaster would have four" said Mr. Joseph Sedley'sservantwho was in waiting; and he and Mr. Osborne'sman agreedas they followed George and William intothechurchthat it was a "reg'lar shabby turnhout; andwith scarce so much as a breakfast or aweddingfaviour."

"Hereyou are" said our old friendJos Sedleycomingforward. "You're five minutes lateGeorgemy boy.What adayeh? Demmyit's like the commencement ofthe rainyseason in Bengal.  But you'll find my carriageiswatertight.  Come alongmy mother and Emmy are in thevestry."

Jos Sedleywas splendid.  He was fatter than ever.  Hisshirtcollars were higher; his face was redder; his shirt-frillflaunted gorgeously out of his variegated waistcoat.Varnishedboots were not invented as yet; but the Hessianson hisbeautiful legs shone sothat they must have beentheidentical pair in which the gentleman in the old pictureused toshave himself; and on his light green coattherebloomed a fine wedding favourlike a great whitespreadingmagnolia.

In a wordGeorge had thrown the great cast.  He wasgoing tobe married.  Hence his pallor and nervousness--hissleepless night and agitation in the morning.  I haveheardpeople who have gone through the same thingown to thesame emotion.  After three or four ceremoniesyou getaccustomed to itno doubt; but the firstdipeverybody allowsis awful.

The bridewas dressed in a brown silk pelisse (asCaptainDobbin has since informed me)and wore a strawbonnetwith a pink ribbon; over the bonnet she had aveil ofwhite Chantilly lacea gift from Mr. Joseph Sedleyherbrother.  Captain Dobbin himself had asked leaveto presenther with a gold chain and watchwhich shesported onthis occasion; and her mother gave her herdiamondbrooch--almost the only trinket which was leftto the oldlady.  As the service went onMrs. Sedley satandwhimpered a great deal in a pewconsoled by theIrishmaid-servant and Mrs. Clapp from the lodgings.Old Sedleywould not be present.  Jos acted for his fathergivingaway the bridewhilst Captain Dobbin stepped upasgroomsman to his friend George.

There wasnobody in the church besides the officiatingpersonsand the small marriage party and their attendants.The twovalets sat aloof superciliously.  The raincamerattling down on the windows.  In the intervals oftheservice you heard itand the sobbing of old Mrs.Sedley inthe pew.  The parson's tones echoed sadlythroughthe empty walls.  Osborne's "I will" was soundedin verydeep bass.  Emmy's response came fluttering upto herlips from her heartbut was scarcely heard byanybodyexcept Captain Dobbin.

When theservice was completedJos Sedley cameforwardand kissed his sisterthe bridefor the first timefor manymonths--George's look of gloom had goneandhe seemedquite proud and radiant.  "It's your turnWilliam"says heputting his hand fondly upon Dobbin'sshoulder;and Dobbin went up and touched Amelia onthe cheek.

Then theywent into the vestry and signed the register."Godbless youOld Dobbin" George saidgrasping himby thehandwith something very like moisture glisteningin hiseyes.  William replied only by nodding his head.His heartwas too full to say much.

"Writedirectlyand come down as soon as you canyou know"Osborne said.  After Mrs. Sedley had taken anhystericaladieu of her daughterthe pair went off to thecarriage. "Get out of the wayyou little devils" Georgecried to asmall crowd of damp urchinsthat were hangingabout thechapel-door.  The rain drove into the brideandbridegroom's faces as they passed to the chariot.Thepostilions' favours draggled on their dripping jackets.The fewchildren made a dismal cheeras the carriagesplashingmuddrove away.

WilliamDobbin stood in the church-porchlooking at ita queerfigure.  The small crew of spectators jeered him.He was notthinking about them or their laughter.

"Comehome and have some tiffinDobbin" a voicecriedbehind him; as a pudgy hand was laid on his shoulderand thehonest fellow's reverie was interrupted.  ButtheCaptain had no heart to go a-feasting with Jos Sedley.He put theweeping old lady and her attendants into thecarriagealong with Josand left them without any fartherwordspassing.  This carriagetoodrove awayand theurchinsgave another sarcastical cheer.

"Hereyou little beggars" Dobbin saidgiving somesixpencesamongst themand then went off by himselfthroughthe rain.  It was all over.  They were marriedandhappyheprayed God.  Never since he was a boy had hefelt somiserable and so lonely.  He longed with a heart-sickyearning for the first few days to be overthat hemight seeher again.

Some tendays after the above ceremonythree youngmen of ouracquaintance were enjoying that beautifulprospectof bow windows on the one side and blue seaon theotherwhich Brighton affords to the traveller.Sometimesit is towards the ocean--smiling with countlessdimplesspeckled with white sailswith a hundredbathing-machineskissing the skirt of his blue garment--that theLondoner looks enraptured: sometimeson thecontrarya lover of human nature rather than of prospectsof anykindit is towards the bow windows thathe turnsand that swarm of human life which theyexhibit. From one issue the notes of a pianowhich a younglady inringlets practises six hours dailyto the delightof thefellow-lodgers: at anotherlovely Pollythe nurse-maidmaybe seen dandling Master Omnium in her arms:whilstJacobhis papais beheld eating prawnsanddevouringthe Times for breakfastat the window below.Yonder arethe Misses Leerywho are looking out for theyoungofficers of the Heavieswho are pretty sure to bepacing thecliff; or again it is a City manwith a nauticalturnanda telescopethe size of a six-pounderwho hashisinstrument pointed seawardsso as to command everypleasure-boatherring-boator bathing-machine thatcomes toor quitsthe shore&c.&c.  But have we anyleisurefor a description of Brighton?--for BrightonacleanNaples with genteel lazzaroni--for Brightonthatalwayslooks briskgayand gaudylike a harlequin'sjacket--forBrightonwhich used to be seven hoursdistantfrom London at the time of our story; which is nowonly ahundred minutes off; and which may approachwho knowshow much nearerunless Joinville comes anduntimelybombards it?

"Whata monstrous fine girl that is in the lodgingsover themilliner's" one of these three promenadersremarkedto the other; "GadCrawleydid you see what awink shegave me as I passed?"

"Don'tbreak her heartJosyou rascal" said another."Don'ttrifle with her affectionsyou Don Juan!"

"Getaway" said Jos Sedleyquite pleasedand leering upat themaid-servant in question with a most killingogle. Jos was even more splendid at Brighton than he hadbeen athis sister's marriage.  He had brilliant under-waistcoatsany one ofwhich would have set up a moderate buck.He sporteda military frock-coatornamented withfrogsknobsblack buttonsand meandering embroidery.He hadaffected a military appearance and habits of late;and hewalked with his two friendswho were of thatprofessionclinking his boot-spursswaggering prodigiouslyandshooting death-glances at all the servant girlswho wereworthy to be slain.

"Whatshall we doboystill the ladies return?" thebuckasked.  The ladies were out to Rottingdean in hiscarriageon a drive.

"Let'shave a game at billiards" one of his friendssaid--thetall onewith lacquered mustachios.

"Nodammy; noCaptain" Jos repliedratheralarmed. "No billiards to-dayCrawleymy boy;yesterdaywas enough."

"Youplay very well" said Crawleylaughing.  "Don'theOsborne? How well he made that-five strokeeh?"

"Famous"Osborne said.  "Jos is a devil of a fellowatbilliardsand at everything elsetoo.  I wish there wereanytiger-hunting about here! we might go and kill a fewbeforedinner.  (There goes a fine girl! what an ankleehJos?) Tellus that story about the tiger-huntand theway youdid for him in the jungle--it's a wonderful storythatCrawley." Here George Osborne gave a yawn.  "It'sratherslow work" said he"down here; what shall wedo?"

"Shallwe go and look at some horses that Snaffler'sjustbrought from Lewes fair?" Crawley said.

"Supposewe go and have some jellies at Dutton's"and therogue Joswilling to kill two birds with onestone. "Devilish fine gal at Dutton's."

"Supposewe go and see the Lightning come init'sjust abouttime?" George said.  This advice prevailingover thestables and the jellythey turned towards thecoach-officeto witness the Lightning's arrival.

As theypassedthey met the carriage--Jos Sedley'sopencarriagewith its magnificent armorial bearings--thatsplendid conveyance in which he used to driveaboutatCheltonhammajestic and solitarywith his armsfoldedand his hat cocked; ormore happywith ladiesby hisside.

Two werein the carriage now: one a little personwithlighthairand dressed in the height of the fashion; theother in abrown silk pelisseand a straw bonnet withpinkribbonswith a rosyroundhappy facethat didyou goodto behold.  She checked the carriage as itneared thethree gentlemenafter which exercise ofauthorityshe looked rather nervousand then began toblush mostabsurdly.  "We have had a delightful driveGeorge"she said"and--and we're so glad to come back;andJosephdon't let him be late."

"Don'tbe leading our husbands into mischiefMr.Sedleyyou wickedwicked man you" Rebecca saidshaking atJos a pretty little finger covered with theneatestFrench kid glove.  "No billiardsno smokingnonaughtiness!"

"Mydear Mrs. Crawley--Ah now! upon my honour!"was allJos could ejaculate by way of reply; but he managedto fallinto a tolerable attitudewith his head lyingon hisshouldergrinning upwards at his victimwith onehand athis backwhich he supported on his caneandthe otherhand (the one with the diamond ring) fumblingin hisshirt-frill and among his under-waistcoats.  As thecarriagedrove off he kissed the diamond hand to the fairladieswithin.  He wished all Cheltenhamall ChowringheeallCalcuttacould see him in that positionwaving hishand tosuch a beautyand in company with such afamousbuck as Rawdon Crawley of the Guards.

Our youngbride and bridegroom had chosen Brightonas theplace where they would pass the first few days aftertheirmarriage; and having engaged apartments at theShip Innenjoyed themselves there in great comfort andquietudeuntil Jos presently joined them.  Nor was hethe onlycompanion they found there.  As they werecominginto the hotel from a sea-side walk one afternoonon whomshould they light but Rebecca and herhusband. The recognition was immediate.  Rebecca flewinto thearms of her dearest friend.  Crawley and Osborneshookhands together cordially enough: and Beckyinthe courseof a very few hoursfound means to make thelatterforget that little unpleasant passage of words whichhadhappened between them.  "Do you remember the lasttime wemet at Miss Crawley'swhen I was so rude toyoudearCaptain Osborne? I thought you seemed carelessabout dearAmelia.  It was that made me angry: andso pert:and so unkind: and so ungrateful.  Do forgiveme!"Rebecca saidand she held out her hand with sofrank andwinning a gracethat Osborne could not buttake it. By humbly and frankly acknowledging yourself tobe in thewrongthere is no knowingmy sonwhat goodyou maydo.  I knew once a gentleman and very worthypractitionerin Vanity Fairwho used to do little wrongsto hisneighbours on purposeand in order to apologisefor themin an open and manly way afterwards--andwhatensued?  My friend Crocky Doyle was liked everywhereand deemedto be rather impetuous--but the honestestfellow. Becky's humility passed for sincerity withGeorgeOsborne.

These twoyoung couples had plenty of tales to relateto eachother.  The marriages of either were discussed;and theirprospects in life canvassed with the greatestfranknessand interest on both sides.  George's marriagewas to bemade known to his father by his friendCaptainDobbin; and young Osborne trembled rather for theresult ofthat communication.  Miss Crawleyon whomallRawdon's hopes dependedstill held out.  Unable tomake anentry into her house in Park Laneheraffectionatenephew and niece had followed her toBrightonwhere they had emissaries continually plantedat herdoor.

"Iwish you could see some of Rawdon's friends whoare alwaysabout our door" Rebecca saidlaughing.  "Didyou eversee a dunmy dear; or a bailiff and his man?Two of theabominable wretches watched all last weekat thegreengrocer's oppositeand we could not get awayuntilSunday.  If Aunty does not relentwhat shall wedo?"

Rawdonwith roars of laughterrelated a dozen amusinganecdotesof his dunsand Rebecca's adroit treatmentof them. He vowed with a great oath that there wasno womanin Europe who could talk a creditor over asshecould.  Almost immediately after their marriageherpracticehad begunand her husband found the immensevalue ofsuch a wife.  They had credit in plentybut theyhad billsalso in abundanceand laboured under a scarcityof readymoney.  Did these debt-difficulties affect Rawdon'sgoodspirits?  No.  Everybody in Vanity Fair musthaveremarked how well those live who are comfortablyandthoroughly in debt: how they deny themselves nothing;how jollyand easy they are in their minds.  Rawdonand hiswife had the very best apartments at the inn atBrighton;the landlordas he brought in the first dishbowedbefore them as to his greatest customers: andRawdonabused the dinners and wine with an audacitywhich nograndee in the land could surpass.  Long customa manlyappearancefaultless boots and clothesand ahappy fierceness of mannerwill often help a manas much asa great balance at the banker's.

The twowedding parties met constantly in each other'sapartments. After two or three nights the gentlemen of aneveninghad a little piquetas their wives sate and chattedapart. This pastimeand the arrival of Jos Sedleywhomade hisappearance in his grand open carriageand whoplayed afew games at billiards with Captain CrawleyreplenishedRawdon's purse somewhatand gave him thebenefit ofthat ready money for which the greatest spiritsaresometimes at a stand-still.

So thethree gentlemen walked down to see the Lightningcoach comein.  Punctual to the minutethe coachcrowdedinside and outthe guard blowing his accustomedtune onthe horn--the Lightning came tearingdown thestreetand pulled up at the coach-office.

"Hullo!there's old Dobbin" George criedquite delightedto see hisold friend perched on the roof; andwhosepromised visit to Brighton had been delayed untilnow. "How are youold fellow?  Glad you're come down.Emmy'll bedelighted to see you" Osborne saidshakinghiscomrade warmly by the hand as soon as his descentfrom thevehicle was effected--and then he addedin alower andagitated voice"What's the news?  Have youbeen inRussell Square?  What does the governor say?Tell meeverything."

Dobbinlooked very pale and grave.  "I've seen yourfather"said he.  "How's Amelia--Mrs. George?  I'll tellyou allthe news presently: but I've brought the greatnews ofall: and that is--"

"Outwith itold fellow" George said.

"We'reordered to Belgium.  All the army goes--guardsand all. Heavytop's got the goutand is mad at not beingable tomove.  O'Dowd goes in commandand we embarkfromChatham next week." This news of war couldnot butcome with a shock upon our loversand causedall thesegentlemen to look very serious.

CHAPTERXXIIICaptainDobbin Proceeds on His Canvass

WHAT isthe secret mesmerism which friendshippossessesand under the operation of which a personordinarilysluggishor coldor timidbecomes wiseactiveand resolutein another's behalf?  As Alexisafter afew passes from Dr. Elliotsondespises painreads withthe back of his headsees miles offlooks intonext weekand performs other wondersof whichin his own private normal conditionhe isquiteincapable; so you seein the affairs of the worldand underthe magnetism of friendshipsthe modestmanbecomes boldthe shy confidentthe lazy activeortheimpetuous prudent and peaceful.  What is iton theotherhandthat makes the lawyer eschew his own causeand callin his learned brother as an adviser?  And what causesthedoctorwhen ailingto send for his rivaland not sitdown andexamine his own tongue in the chimney Bassor writehis own prescription at his study-table?  I throwout thesequeries for intelligent readers to answerwhoknowatoncehow credulous we areand how scepticalhow softand how obstinatehow firm for others and howdiffidentabout ourselves:  meanwhileit is certain thatour friendWilliam Dobbinwho was personally of socomplyinga disposition that if his parents had pressedhim muchit is probable he would have stepped downinto thekitchen and married the cookand whoto furtherhis owninterestswould have found the most insuperabledifficultyin walking across the streetfound himself asbusy andeager in the conduct of George Osborne'saffairsas the most selfish tactician could be in the pursuitof hisown.

Whilst ourfriend George and his young wife wereenjoyingthe first blushing days of the honeymoon atBrightonhonest William was left as George's plenipotentiaryin Londonto transact all the business part of the marriage.His dutyit was to call upon old Sedley and hiswifeandto keep the former in good humour:  to draw Josand hisbrother-in-law nearer togetherso that Jos's positionanddignityas collector of Boggley Wollahmightcompensatefor his father's loss of stationand tend toreconcileold Osborne to the alliance:  and finallytocommunicateit to the latter in such a way as should leastirritatethe old gentleman.

Nowbefore he faced the head of the Osborne housewith thenews which it was his duty to tellDobbin bethoughthim thatit would be politic to make friends of therest ofthe familyandif possiblehave the ladies on hisside. Theycan't be angry in their heartsthought he.  Nowoman everwas really angry at a romantic marriage.  Alittlecrying outand they must come round to theirbrother;when the three of us will lay siege to old Mr.Osborne. So this Machiavellian captain of infantry castabout himfor some happy means or stratagem by whichhe couldgently and gradually bring the Misses Osborneto aknowledge of their brother's secret.

By alittle inquiry regarding his mother's engagementshe waspretty soon able to find out by whom of herladyship'sfriends parties were given at that season; wherehe wouldbe likely to meet Osborne's sisters; andthoughhe hadthat abhorrence of routs and evening partieswhich manysensible menalas! entertainhe soon foundone wherethe Misses Osborne were to be present.Making hisappearance at the ballwhere he danced a coupleof setswith both of themand was prodigiously politeheactuallyhad the courage to ask Miss Osborne for a fewminutes'conversation at an early hour the next daywhenhe hadhesaidto communicate to her news of theverygreatest interest.

What wasit that made her start backand gaze uponhim for amomentand then on the ground at her feetand makeas if she would faint on his armhad he not byopportunelytreading on her toesbrought the young ladyback toself-control?  Why was she so violently agitatedatDobbin's request?  This can never be known.  But whenhe camethe next dayMaria was not in the drawing-roomwith hersisterand Miss Wirt went off for the purposeoffetching the latterand the Captain and Miss Osbornewere lefttogether.  They were both so silent that the ticktockof theSacrifice of Iphigenia clock on the mantelpiecebecamequite rudely audible.

"Whata nice party it was last night" Miss Osborne atlengthbeganencouragingly; "and--and how you'reimprovedin your dancingCaptain Dobbin.  Surely somebodyhas taughtyou" she addedwith amiable archness.

"Youshould see me dance a reel with Mrs. MajorO'Dowd ofours; and a jig--did you ever see a jig?  ButI thinkanybody could dance with youMiss Osbornewho danceso well."

"Isthe Major's lady young and beautifulCaptain?" thefairquestioner continued.  "Ahwhat a terrible thing itmust be tobe a soldier's wife!  I wonder they have anyspirits todanceand in these dreadful times of wartoo!O CaptainDobbinI tremble sometimes when I think ofourdearest Georgeand the dangers of the poor soldier.Are theremany married officers of the --thCaptainDobbin?"

"Uponmy wordshe's playing her hand rather tooopenly"Miss Wirt thought; but this observation is merely parentheticand wasnot heard through the crevice ofthe doorat which the governess uttered it.

"Oneof our young men is just married" Dobbin saidnow comingto the point.  "It was a very old attachmentand theyoung couple are as poor as church mice.""Ohow delightful! Ohow romantic!" Miss Osbornecriedasthe Captain said "old attachment" and "poor."Hersympathy encouraged him.

"Thefinest young fellow in the regiment" he continued."Nota braver or handsomer officer in the army; andsuch acharming wife!  How you would like her!  howyou willlike her when you know herMiss Osborne."  Theyoung ladythought the actual moment had arrivedandthatDobbin's nervousness which now came on and wasvisible inmany twitchings of his facein his manner ofbeatingthe ground with his great feetin the rapidbuttoningand unbuttoning of his frock-coat&c.--MissOsborneIsaythought that when he had given himself alittleairhe would unbosom himself entirelyandpreparedeagerly to listen.  And the clockin the altar onwhichIphigenia was situatedbeginningafter a preparatoryconvulsionto toll twelvethe mere tolling seemedas if itwould last until one--so prolonged was the knellto theanxious spinster.

"Butit's not about marriage that I came to speak--that isthat marriage--that is--noI mean--my dearMissOsborneit's about our dear friend George"Dobbinsaid.

"AboutGeorge?" she said in a tone so discomfitedthat Mariaand Miss Wirt laughed at the other side ofthe doorand even that abandoned wretch of a Dobbinfeltinclined to smile himself; for he was not altogetherunconsciousof the state of affairs:  George having oftenbanteredhim gracefully and said"Hang itWillwhydon't youtake old Jane?  She'll have you if you ask her.I'll betyou five to two she will."

"Yesabout Georgethen" he continued.  "There hasbeen adifference between him and Mr. Osborne.  And Iregard himso much--for you know we have been likebrothers--thatI hope and pray the quarrel may besettled. We must go abroadMiss Osborne.  We may beorderedoff at a day's warning.  Who knows what mayhappen inthe campaign?  Don't be agitateddear MissOsborne;and those two at least should part friends."

"Therehas been no quarrelCaptain Dobbinexcepta littleusual scene with Papa" the lady said.  "We areexpectingGeorge back daily.  What Papa wanted was onlyfor hisgood.  He has but to come backand I'm sure allwill bewell; and dear Rhodawho went away from herein sad sadangerI know will forgive him.  Woman forgivesbut tooreadilyCaptain."

"Suchan angel as YOU I am sure would" Mr. Dobbinsaidwithatrocious astuteness.  "And no man can pardonhimselffor giving a woman pain.  What would you feelif a manwere faithless to you?"

"Ishould perish--I should throw myself out of window--I shouldtake poison--I should pine and die.  Iknow Ishould" Miss criedwho had nevertheless gonethroughone or two affairs of the heart without any ideaofsuicide.

"Andthere are others" Dobbin continued"as trueand askind-hearted as yourself.  I'm not speaking aboutthe WestIndian heiressMiss Osbornebut about a poorgirl whomGeorge once lovedand who was bred fromherchildhood to think of nobody but him.  I've seen herin herpoverty uncomplainingbroken-heartedwithout afault. It is of Miss Sedley I speak.  Dear Miss Osbornecan yourgenerous heart quarrel with your brother forbeingfaithful to her?  Could his own conscience everforgivehim if he deserted her?  Be her friend--she alwayslovedyou--and--and I am come here charged by Georgeto tellyou that he holds his engagement to her as themostsacred duty he has; and to entreat youat leastto be onhis side."

When anystrong emotion took possession of Mr. Dobbinand afterthe first word or two of hesitationhe couldspeak withperfect fluencyand it was evident that hiseloquenceon this occasion made some impression uponthe ladywhom he addressed.

"Well"said she"this is--most surprising--most painful--mostextraordinary--what will Papa say?--thatGeorgeshould fling away such a superb establishment aswasoffered to him
but at any rate he has found a verybravechampion in youCaptain Dobbin.  It is of no usehowever"she continuedafter a pause; "I feel for poorMissSedleymost certainly--most sincerelyyou know.We neverthought the match a good onethough we werealwaysvery kind to her here--very.  But Papa will neverconsentIam sure.  And a well brought up young womanyouknow--with a well-regulated mindmust--Georgemust giveher updear Captain Dobbinindeed he must."

"Oughta man to give up the woman he lovedjustwhenmisfortune befell her?" Dobbin saidholding outhis hand. "Dear Miss Osborneis this the counsel I hearfrom you? My dear young lady! you must befriend her.He can'tgive her up.  He must not give her up.  Would amanthinkyougive YOU up if you were poor?"

Thisadroit question touched the heart of Miss JaneOsbornenot a little.  "I don't know whether we poor girlsought tobelieve what you men sayCaptain" she said."Thereis that in woman's tenderness which induces herto believetoo easily.  I'm afraid you are cruelcrueldeceivers"--andDobbin certainly thought he felt apressureof the hand which Miss Osborne had extendedto him.

He droppedit in some alarm.  "Deceivers!" said he."Nodear Miss Osborneall men are not; your brotheris not;George has loved Amelia Sedley ever since theywerechildren; no wealth would make him marry any buther. Ought he to forsake her?  Would you counsel him todo so?"

What couldMiss Jane say to such a questionand withher ownpeculiar views?  She could not answer itso sheparried itby saying"Wellif you are not a deceiveratleast youare very romantic"; and Captain William letthisobservation pass without challenge.

At lengthwhenby the help of farther polite speecheshe deemedthat Miss Osborne was sufficiently prepared toreceivethe whole newshe poured it into her ear."Georgecould not give up Amelia--George was marriedtoher"--and then he related the circumstances of themarriageas we know them already:  how the poor girlwould havedied had not her lover kept his faith:  howOld Sedleyhad refused all consent to the matchand alicencehad been got: and Jos Sedley had come fromCheltenhamto give away the bride: how they had gonetoBrighton in Jos's chariot-and-four to pass the honeymoon:and howGeorge counted on his dear kind sisters tobefriendhim with their fatheras women--so trueand tenderas they were--assuredly would do.  And soaskingpermission (readily granted) to see her againandrightlyconjecturing that the news he had brought wouldbe told inthe next five minutes to the other ladiesCaptainDobbin made his bow and took his leave.

He wasscarcely out of the housewhen Miss Mariaand MissWirt rushed in to Miss Osborneand thewholewonderful secret was imparted to them by thatlady. To do them justiceneither of the sisters was verymuchdispleased.  There is something about a runawaymatch withwhich few ladies can be seriously angryandAmeliarather rose in their estimationfrom the spiritwhich shehad displayed in consenting to the union.  Astheydebated the storyand prattled about itand wonderedwhat Papawould do and saycame a loud knockas of anavenging thunder-clapat the doorwhich madetheseconspirators start.  It must be Papathey thought.But it wasnot he.  It was only Mr. Frederick Bullockwho hadcome from the City according to appointmentto conductthe ladies to a flower-show.

Thisgentlemanas may be imaginedwas not keptlong inignorance of the secret.  But his facewhen heheard itshowed an amazement which was very differentto thatlook of sentimental wonder which the countenancesof thesisters wore.  Mr. Bullock was a man of the worldand ajunior partner of a wealthy firm.  He knew whatmoney wasand the value of it: and a delightful throbofexpectation lighted up his little eyesand caused himto smileon his Mariaas he thought that by this pieceof follyof Mr. George's she might be worth thirtythousandpounds more than he had ever hoped toget withher.

"Gad! Jane" said hesurveying even the elder sisterwith someinterest"Eels will be sorry he cried off.  Youmay be afifty thousand pounder yet."

Thesisters had never thought of the money questionup to thatmomentbut Fred Bullock bantered themwithgraceful gaiety about it during their forenoon'sexcursion;and they had risen not a little in their ownesteem bythe time whenthe morning amusement overthey droveback to dinner.  And do not let my respectedreaderexclaim against this selfishness as unnatural.  Itwas butthis present morningas he rode on the omnibusfromRichmond; while it changed horsesthis presentchroniclerbeing on the roofmarked three little childrenplaying ina puddle belowvery dirtyand friendlyandhappy. To these three presently came another little one."POLLY"says she"YOUR SISTER'S GOT A PENNY."  At whichthechildren got up from the puddle instantlyand ranoff to paytheir court to Peggy.  And as the omnibus droveoff I sawPeggy with the infantine procession at hertailmarching with great dignity towards the stall of aneighbouringlollipop-woman.

CHAPTERXXIVInWhich Mr. Osborne Takes Down the Family Bible

So havingprepared the sistersDobbin hastened awayto theCity to perform the rest and more difficult partof thetask which he had undertaken.  The idea of facingoldOsborne rendered him not a little nervousand morethan oncehe thought of leaving the young ladies tocommunicatethe secretwhichas he was awarethey couldnot longretain.  But he had promised to report to Georgeupon themanner in which the elder Osborne bore theintelligence;so going into the City to the paternalcounting-housein Thames Streethe despatched thencea note toMr. Osborne begging for a half-hour's conversationrelativeto the affairs of his son George.  Dobbin's messengerreturnedfrom Mr. Osborne's house of businesswith thecomplimentsof the latterwho would be very happy to see theCaptainimmediatelyand away accordingly Dobbin wenttoconfront him.

TheCaptainwith a half-guilty secret to confessandwith theprospect of a painful and stormy interviewbeforehimentered Mr. Osborne's offices with a mostdismalcountenance and abashed gaitandpassing throughthe outerroom where Mr. Chopper presidedwas greetedby thatfunctionary from his desk with a waggish airwhichfarther discomfited him.  Mr. Chopper winked andnodded andpointed his pen towards his patron's doorand said"You'll find the governor all right" with themostprovoking good humour.

Osbornerose tooand shook him heartily by the handand said"How domy dear boy?" with a cordiality thatmade poorGeorge's ambassador feel doubly guilty.  Hishand layas if dead in the old gentleman's grasp.  He feltthat heDobbinwas more or less the cause of all thathadhappened.  It was he had brought back George toAmelia: itwas he had applaudedencouragedtransactedalmost themarriage which he was come to reveal toGeorge'sfather:  and the latter was receiving him withsmiles ofwelcome; patting him on the shoulderand callinghim"Dobbinmy dear boy." The envoy had indeedgoodreason to hang his head.

Osbornefully believed that Dobbin had come toannouncehis son's surrender.  Mr. Chopper and hisprincipalwere talking over the matter between George andhisfatherat the very moment when Dobbin's messengerarrived. Both agreed that George was sending in hissubmission. Both had been expecting it for some days--and"Lord!Chopperwhat a marriage we'll have!" Mr.Osbornesaid to his clerksnapping his big fingersandjinglingall the guineas and shillings in his great pocketsas he eyedhis subordinate with a look of triumph.

Withsimilar operations conducted in both pocketsand aknowing jolly airOsborne from his chair regardedDobbinseated blank and silent opposite to him.  "Whata bumpkinhe is for a Captain in the army" old Osbornethought. "I wonder George hasn't taught him bettermanners."

At lastDobbin summoned courage to begin.  "Sir" saidhe"I'vebrought you some very grave news.  I have beenat theHorse Guards this morningand there's no doubtthat ourregiment will be ordered abroadand on itsway toBelgium before the week is over.  And you knowsirthatwe shan't be home again before a tussle whichmay befatal to many of us." Osborne looked grave.  "My s--the regiment willdo itsdutysirI daresay" he said.

"TheFrench are very strongsir" Dobbin went on."TheRussians and Austrians will be a long time beforethey canbring their troops down.  We shall have the firstof thefightsir; and depend on it Boney will take carethat itshall be a hard one."

"Whatare you driving atDobbin?" his interlocutorsaiduneasy and with a scowl.  "I suppose no Briton'safraid ofany d-- Frenchmanhey?"

"Ionly meanthat before we goand considering thegreat andcertain risk that hangs over every one of us--if thereare any differences between you and George--itwould beas wellsirthat--that you should shake hands:wouldn'tit?  Should anything happen to himI think youwouldnever forgive yourself if you hadn't parted incharity."

As he saidthispoor William Dobbin blushed crimsonand feltand owned that he himself was a traitor.  Butfor himperhapsthis severance need never have takenplace. Why had not George's marriage been delayed?What callwas there to press it on so eagerly?  He felt thatGeorgewould have parted from Amelia at any rate withouta mortalpang.  AmeliatooMIGHT have recovered theshock oflosing him.  It was his counsel had broughtabout thismarriageand all that was to ensue from it.And whywas it?  Because he loved her so much that hecould notbear to see her unhappy:  or because his ownsufferingsof suspense were so unendurable that he wasglad tocrush them at once--as we hasten a funeralafter adeathorwhen a separation from those we loveisimminentcannot rest until the parting be over.

"Youare a good fellowWilliam" said Mr. Osborne ina softenedvoice; "and me and George shouldn't part inangerthat is true.  Look here.  I've done for him asmuch asany father ever did.  He's had three times asmuch moneyfrom meas I warrant your father evergave you. But I don't brag about that.  How I've toiledfor himand worked and employed my talents and energyI won'tsay.  Ask Chopper.  Ask himself.  Ask the City ofLondon. WellI propose to him such a marriage as anynoblemanin the land might be proud of--the only thingin life Iever asked him--and he refuses me.  Am I wrong?Is thequarrel of MY making?  What do I seek but hisgoodforwhich I've been toiling like a convict ever sincehe wasborn?  Nobody can say there's anything selfish inme. Let him come back.  I sayhere's my hand.  I sayforget andforgive.  As for marrying nowit's out of thequestion. Let him and Miss S. make it upand make out themarriageafterwardswhen he comes back a Colonel;for heshall be a Colonelby G-- he shallif moneycan doit.  I'm glad you've brought him round.  I know it'syouDobbin.  You've took him out of many a scrapebefore. Let him come.  I shan't be hard.  Come alonganddine inRussell Square to-day: both of you.  The old shopthe oldhour.  You'll find a neck of venisonand noquestionsasked."

Thispraise and confidence smote Dobbin's heart verykeenly. Every moment the colloquy continued in thistonehefelt more and more guilty.  "Sir" said he"Ifear youdeceive yourself.  I am sure you do.  George ismuch toohigh-minded a man ever to marry for money.  Athreat onyour part that you would disinherit him incase ofdisobedience would only be followed by resistanceon his."

"Whyhang itmanyou don't call offering him eightor tenthousand a year threatening him?'' Mr. Osbornesaidwithstill provoking good humour.  "'Gadif MissS. willhave meI'm her man.  I ain't particular about ashade orso of tawny." And the old gentleman gave hisknowinggrin and coarse laugh.

"Youforgetsirprevious engagements into whichCaptainOsborne had entered" the ambassador saidgravely.

"Whatengagements? What the devil do you mean?You don'tmean" Mr. Osborne continuedgatheringwrath andastonishment as the thought now first cameupon him;"you don't mean that he's such a d-- foolas to bestill hankering after that swindling old bankrupt'sdaughter? You've not come here for to make mesupposethat he wants to marry HER?  Marry HERthat ISa goodone.  My son and heir marry a beggar's girl out ofa gutter. D-- himif he doeslet him buy a broomand sweepa crossing.  She was always dangling and oglingafter himI recollect now; and I've no doubt she wasput on byher old sharper of a father."

"Mr.Sedley was your very good friendsir" Dobbininterposedalmost pleased at finding himself growingangry. "Time was you called him better names thanrogue andswindler.  The match was of your making.George hadno right to play fast and loose--"

"Fastand loose!" howled out old Osborne.  "Fast andloose! Whyhang methose are the very words mygentlemanused himself when he gave himself airslastThursdaywas a fortnightand talked about the British armyto hisfather who made him.  Whatit's you who havebeen asetting of him up--is it? and my service to youCAPTAIN. It's you who want to introduce beggars into myfamily. Thank you for nothingCaptain.  Marry HER indeed--hehe!why should he?  I warrant you she'd go to himfastenough without."

"Sir"said Dobbinstarting up in undisguised anger;"noman shall abuse that lady in my hearingand youleast ofall."

"Oyou're a-going to call me outare you?  Stoplet mering thebell for pistols for two.  Mr. George sent youhere toinsult his fatherdid he?" Osborne saidpullingat thebell-cord.

"Mr.Osborne" said Dobbinwith a faltering voice"it'syou who are insulting the best creature in the world.You hadbest spare hersirfor she's your son's wife."

And withthisfeeling that he could say no moreDobbinwent awayOsborne sinking back in his chairandlookingwildly after him.  A clerk came inobedient to thebell; andthe Captain was scarcely out of the court whereMr.Osborne's offices werewhen Mr. Chopper the chiefclerk camerushing hatless after him.

"ForGod's sakewhat is it?" Mr. Chopper saidcatchingtheCaptain by the skirt.  "The governor's in a fit.What hasMr. George been doing?"

"Hemarried Miss Sedley five days ago" Dobbin replied."Iwas his groomsmanMr. Chopperand you muststand hisfriend."

The oldclerk shook his head.  "If that's your newsCaptainit's bad.  The governor will never forgive him."

Dobbinbegged Chopper to report progress to him atthe hotelwhere he was stoppingand walked off moodilywestwardsgreatly perturbed as to the past and thefuture.

When theRussell Square family came to dinner thateveningthey found the father of the house seated in hisusualplacebut with that air of gloom on his facewhichwheneverit appeared therekept the whole circle silent.Theladiesand Mr. Bullock who dined with themfeltthat thenews had been communicated to Mr. Osborne.His darklooks affected Mr. Bullock so far as to renderhim stilland quiet: but he was unusually bland andattentiveto Miss Mariaby whom he satand to her sisterpresidingat the head of the table.

Miss Wirtby consequencewas alone on her side ofthe boarda gap being left between her and Miss JaneOsborne. Now this was George's place when he dined athome; andhis coveras we saidwas laid for him inexpectationof that truant's return.  Nothing occurredduringdinner-time except smiling Mr. Frederick's flaggingconfidentialwhispersand the clinking of plate and chinatointerrupt the silence of the repast.  The servants wentaboutstealthily doing their duty.  Mutes at funerals couldnot lookmore glum than the domestics of Mr. OsborneThe neckof venison of which he had invited Dobbin topartakewas carved by him in perfect silence; but hisown sharewent away almost untastedthough he drankmuchandthe butler assiduously filled his glass.

At lastjust at the end of the dinnerhis eyeswhichhad beenstaring at everybody in turnfixed themselvesfor awhile upon the plate laid for George.  He pointedto itpresently with his left hand.  His daughters looked athim anddid not comprehendor choose to comprehendthesignal; nor did the servants at first understand it.

"Takethat plate away" at last he saidgetting up withanoath--and with this pushing his chair backhe walkedinto hisown room.

Behind Mr.Osborne's dining-room was the usualapartmentwhich went in his house by the name of thestudy; andwas sacred to the master of the house.  HitherMr.Osborne would retire of a Sunday forenoon whennot mindedto go to church; and here pass the morningin hiscrimson leather chairreading the paper.  A coupleof glazedbook-cases were herecontaining standardworks instout gilt bindings.  The "Annual Register" the"Gentleman'sMagazine" "Blair's Sermons" and "HumeandSmollett." From year's end to year's end he nevertook oneof these volumes from the shelf; but there wasno memberof the family that would dare for his life totouch oneof the booksexcept upon those rare Sundayeveningswhen there was no dinner-partyand when thegreatscarlet Bible and Prayer-book were taken out fromthe cornerwhere they stood beside his copy of the Peerageand theservants being rung up to the dining parlourOsborneread the evening service to his family in aloudgrating pompous voice.  No member of the householdchildordomesticever entered that room withouta certainterror.  Here he checked the housekeeper's accountsandoverhauled the butler's cellar-book.  Hence hecouldcommandacross the clean gravel court-yardthebackentrance of the stables with which one of his bellscommunicatedand into this yard the coachman issuedfrom hispremises as into a dockand Osborne swore athim fromthe study window.  Four times a year MissWirtentered this apartment to get her salary; and hisdaughtersto receive their quarterly allowance.  Georgeas a boyhad been horsewhipped in this room manytimes; hismother sitting sick on the stair listening to thecuts ofthe whip.  The boy was scarcely ever known tocry underthe punishment; the poor woman used tofondle andkiss him secretlyand give him money tosoothe himwhen he came out.

There wasa picture of the family over the mantelpieceremovedthither from the front room after Mrs. Osborne'sdeath--Georgewas on a ponythe elder sisterholdinghim up a bunch of flowers; the younger led byhermother's hand; all with red cheeks and large redmouthssimpering on each other in the approved family-portraitmanner.  The mother lay underground nowlongsinceforgotten--the sisters and brother had a hundreddifferentinterests of their ownandfamiliar stillwereutterlyestranged from each other.  Some few score ofyearsafterwardswhen all the parties represented aregrown oldwhat bitter satire there is in those flauntingchildishfamily-portraitswith their farce of sentiment andsmilingliesand innocence so self-conscious and self-satisfied. Osborne's own state portraitwith that of hisgreatsilver inkstand and arm-chairhad taken the placeof honourin the dining-roomvacated by the family-piece.

To thisstudy old Osborne retired thengreatly to therelief ofthe small party whom he left.  When theservantshad withdrawnthey began to talk for a whilevolublybut very low; then they went upstairs quietlyMr.Bullock accompanying them stealthily on his creakingshoes. He had no heart to sit alone drinking wineand soclose to the terrible old gentleman in the studyhard athand.

An hour atleast after darkthe butlernot havingreceivedany summonsventured to tap at his door andtake himin wax candles and tea.  The master of thehouse satein his chairpretending to read the paperand whenthe servantplacing the lights and refreshmenton thetable by himretiredMr. Osborne got up andlocked thedoor after him.  This time there was no mistakingthematter; all the household knew that some greatcatastrophewas going to happen which was likely direlyto affectMaster George.

In thelarge shining mahogany escritoire Mr. Osbornehad adrawer especially devoted to his son's affairs andpapers. Here he kept all the documents relating to himever sincehe had been a boy: here were his prize copy-books anddrawing-booksall bearing George's handand thatof the master:  here were his first letters in largeround-handsending his love to papa and mammaandconveyinghis petitions for a cake.  His dear godpapaSedley wasmore than once mentioned in them.  Cursesquiveredon old Osborne's livid lipsand horrid hatredanddisappointment writhed in his heartas lookingthroughsome of these papers he came on that name.They wereall marked and docketedand tied with red tape.Itwas--From Georgyrequesting 5s.April 2318--;answeredApril 25"--or "Georgy about a ponyOctober13"--andso forth. In another packet were "Dr. S.'s accounts"--"G.'stailor's bills and outfitsdrafts on me byG.Osbornejun." &c.--his letters from the West Indies--hisagent's lettersand the newspapers containing hiscommissions:here was a whip he had when a boyand ina paper alocket containing his hairwhich his motherused towear.

Turningone over after anotherand musing over thesememorialsthe unhappy man passed many hours.  Hisdearestvanitiesambitious hopeshad all been here.  Whatpride hehad in his boy!  He was the handsomest childeverseen.  Everybody said he was like a nobleman'sson. A royal princess had remarked himand kissedhimandasked his name in Kew Gardens.  What Cityman couldshow such another?  Could a prince have beenbettercared for?  Anything that money could buy hadbeen hisson's.  He used to go down on speech-days withfourhorses and new liveriesand scatter new shillingsamong theboys at the school where George was:  whenhe wentwith George to the depot of his regimentbeforethe boyembarked for Canadahe gave the officerssuch adinner as the Duke of York might have sat downto. Had he ever refused a bill when George drew one?There theywere--paid without a word.  Many a generalin thearmy couldn't ride the horses he had!  He had thechildbefore his eyeson a hundred different days whenheremembered George after dinnerwhen he usedto come inas bold as a lord and drink off his glass byhisfather's sideat the head of the table--on the ponyatBrightonwhen he cleared the hedge and kept up withthehuntsman--on the day when he was presented tothe PrinceRegent at the leveewhen all Saint James'scouldn'tproduce a finer young fellow.  And thisthis wasthe end ofall!--to marry a bankrupt and fly in the faceof dutyand fortune!  What humiliation and fury:  whatpangs ofsickening ragebalked ambition and love; whatwounds ofoutraged vanitytenderness evenhad thisoldworldling now to suffer under!

Havingexamined these papersand pondered over thisone andthe otherin that bitterest of all helpless woewith whichmiserable men think of happy past times--George'sfather took the whole of the documents out ofthe drawerin which he had kept them so longand lockedthem intoa writing-boxwhich he tiedand sealed withhis seal. Then he opened the book-caseand took downthe greatred Bible we have spoken of a pompousbookseldom looked atand shining all over with gold.There wasa frontispiece to the volumerepresentingAbrahamsacrificing Isaac.  Hereaccording to customOsbornehad recorded on the fly-leafand in his largeclerk-likehandthe dates of his marriage and his wife'sdeathandthe births and Christian names of his children.Jane camefirstthen George Sedley Osbornethen MariaFrancesand the days of the christening of each.  Takinga penhecarefully obliterated George's names fromthe page;and when the leaf was quite dryrestored thevolume tothe place from which he had moved it.  Thenhe took adocument out of another drawerwhere hisownprivate papers were kept; and having read itcrumpledit up andlighted it at one of the candlesand saw itburnentirely away in the grate.  It was his will; whichbeingburnedhe sate down and wrote off a letterandrang forhis servantwhom he charged to deliver it in themorning. It was morning already: as he went up to bedthe wholehouse was alight with the sunshine; and thebirds weresinging among the fresh green leaves inRussellSquare.

Anxious tokeep all Mr. Osborne's family and dependantsin goodhumourand to make as many friends aspossiblefor George in his hour of adversityWilliam Dobbinwho knewthe effect which good dinners and goodwines haveupon the soul of manwrote off immediatelyon hisreturn to his inn the most hospitable of invitationsto ThomasChopperEsquirebegging that gentleman todine withhim at the Slaughters' next day.  The notereachedMr. Chopper before he left the Cityand theinstantreply wasthat "Mr. Chopper presents hisrespectfulcomplimentsand will have the honour andpleasureof waiting on Captain D."  The invitation and theroughdraft of the answer were shown to Mrs. Chopperand herdaughters on his return to Somers' Town thateveningand they talked about military gents and WestEnd menwith great exultation as the family sate andpartook oftea.  When the girls had gone to restMr. andMrs. C.discoursed upon the strange events which wereoccurringin the governor's family.  Never had the clerkseen hisprincipal so moved.  When he went in to Mr.Osborneafter Captain Dobbin's departureMr. Chopperfound hischief black in the faceand all but in a fit:somedreadful quarrelhe was certainhad occurredbetweenMr. O. and the young Captain.  Chopper had beeninstructedto make out an account of all sums paid toCaptainOsborne within the last three years.  "And apreciouslot of money he has had too" the chief clerk saidandrespected his old and young master the morefortheliberal way in which the guineas had been flung about.Thedispute was something about Miss Sedley.  Mrs.Choppervowed and declared she pitied that poor younglady tolose such a handsome young fellow as the Capting.As thedaughter of an unlucky speculatorwho had paid averyshabby dividendMr. Chopper had no great regardfor MissSedley.  He respected the house of Osbornebefore allothers in the City of London: and his hope andwish wasthat Captain George should marry a nobleman'sdaughter. The clerk slept a great deal sounder thanhisprincipal that night; andcuddling his children afterbreakfast(of which he partook with a very heartyappetitethough his modest cup of life was onlysweetenedwith brown sugar)he set off in his best Sundaysuit andfrilled shirt for businesspromising his admiringwife notto punish Captain D.'s port too severely thatevening.

Mr.Osborne's countenancewhen he arrived in theCity athis usual timestruck those dependants who wereaccustomedfor good reasonsto watch its expressionaspeculiarly ghastly and worn.  At twelve o'clock Mr.Higgs (ofthe firm of Higgs & BlatherwicksolicitorsBedfordRow) called by appointmentand was usheredinto thegovernor's private roomand closeted there formore thanan hour.  At about one Mr. Chopperreceived anote brought by Captain Dobbin's manandcontainingan inclosure for Mr. Osbornewhich the clerkwent inand delivered.  A short time afterwards Mr.Chopperand Mr. Birchthe next clerkwere summonedandrequestedto witness a paper.  "I've been making a newwill"Mr. Osborne saidto which these gentlemenappendedtheir names accordingly.  No conversationpassed. Mr. Higgs looked exceedingly grave as he cameinto theouter roomsand very hard in Mr. Chopper'sface; butthere were not any explanations.  It wasremarkedthat Mr. Osborne was particularly quiet andgentle alldayto the surprise of those who had augured illfrom hisdarkling demeanour.  He called no man namesthat dayand was not heard to swear once.  He left businessearly; andbefore going awaysummoned his chiefclerk oncemoreand having given him general instructionsasked himafter some seeming hesitation and reluctanceto speakif he knew whether Captain Dobbin was in town?

Choppersaid he believed he was.  Indeed both of themknew thefact perfectly.

Osbornetook a letter directed to that officerandgiving itto the clerkrequested the latter to deliver itintoDobbin's own hands immediately.

"AndnowChopper" says hetaking his hatand witha strangelook"my mind will be easy."  Exactly as theclockstruck two (there was no doubt an appointmentbetweenthe pair) Mr. Frederick Bullock calledand heand Mr.Osborne walked away together.

TheColonel of the --th regimentin which MessieursDobbin andOsborne had companieswas an old Generalwho hadmade his first campaign under Wolfe at Quebecand waslong since quite too old and feeble for command;but hetook some interest in the regiment of whichhe was thenominal headand made certain of his youngofficerswelcome at his tablea kind of hospitalitywhich Ibelieve is not now common amongst hisbrethren. Captain Dobbin was an especial favouriteof thisold General.  Dobbin was versed in the literatureof hisprofessionand could talk about the great Frederickand theEmpress Queenand their warsalmost as wellas theGeneral himselfwho was indifferent to the triumphsof thepresent dayand whose heart was with thetacticiansof fifty years back.  This officer sent a summonsto Dobbinto come and breakfast with himon themorningwhen Mr. Osborne altered his will and Mr. Chopperput on hisbest shirt frilland then informed his youngfavouritea couple of days in advanceof that which theywere allexpecting--a marching order to go to Belgium.The orderfor the regiment to hold itself in readinesswouldleave the Horse Guards in a day or two; and astransportswere in plentythey would get their routebefore theweek was over.  Recruits had come in duringthe stayof the regiment at Chatham; and the old Generalhoped thatthe regiment which had helped to beatMontcalmin Canadaand to rout Mr. Washington onLongIslandwould prove itself worthy of its historicalreputationon the oft-trodden battle-grounds of the LowCountries. "And somy good friendif you have anyaffairelasaid the old Generaltaking a pinch of snuffwith histrembling white old handand then pointing tothe spotof his robe de chambre under which his heartwas stillfeebly beating"if you have any Phillis to consoleor to bidfarewell to papa and mammaor any willto makeIrecommend you to set about your businesswithoutdelay." With which the General gave his youngfriend afinger to shakeand a good-natured nod of hispowderedand pigtailed head; and the door being closeduponDobbinsate down to pen a poulet (he wasexceedinglyvain of his French) to MademoiselleAmenaideof His Majesty's Theatre.

This newsmade Dobbin graveand he thought of ourfriends atBrightonand then he was ashamed of himselfthatAmelia was always the first thing in his thoughts(alwaysbefore anybody--before father and mothersistersand duty--always at waking and sleeping indeedand allday long); and returning to his hotelhe sent off abrief noteto Mr. Osborne acquainting him with theinformationwhich he had receivedand which might tendfartherhe hopedto bring about a reconciliation withGeorge.

This notedespatched by the same messenger who hadcarriedthe invitation to Chopper on the previous dayalarmedthe worthy clerk not a little.  It was inclosed tohimandas he opened the letter he trembled lest thedinnershould be put off on which he was calculating.  Hismind wasinexpressibly relieved when he found that theenvelopewas only a reminder for himself.  ("I shallexpect youat half-past five" Captain Dobbin wrote.) He wasvery muchinterested about his employer's family; butquevoulez-vous? a grand dinner was of more concern tohim thanthe affairs of any other mortal.

Dobbin wasquite justified in repeating the General'sinformationto any officers of the regiment whom heshould seein the course of his peregrinations; accordinglyheimparted it to Ensign Stubblewhom he met at theagent'sand who--such was his military ardour--wentoffinstantly to purchase a new sword at theaccoutrement-maker's. Here this young fellowwhothoughonly seventeen years of ageand about sixty-fiveincheshighwith a constitution naturally rickety andmuchimpaired by premature brandy and waterhad anundoubtedcourage and a lion's heartpoisedtriedbentandbalanced a weapon such as he thought would do executionamongstFrenchmen.  Shouting "Haha!" and stamping his littlefeet withtremendous energyhe delivered the point twiceor thriceat Captain Dobbinwho parried the thrustlaughinglywith his bamboo walking-stick.

Mr.Stubbleas may be supposed from his size andslendernesswas of the Light Bobs.  Ensign Spooneyonthecontrarywas a tall youthand belonged to (CaptainDobbin's)the Grenadier Companyand he tried on a newbearskincapunder which he looked savage beyond hisyears. Then these two lads went off to the Slaughters'andhavingordered a famous dinnersate down and wrote offletters tothe kind anxious parents at home--letters full oflove andheartinessand pluck and bad spelling.  Ah! therewere manyanxious hearts beating through England atthat time;and mothers' prayers and tears flowing in manyhomesteads.

Seeingyoung Stubble engaged in composition at one ofthecoffee-room tables at the Slaughters'and the tearstricklingdown his nose on to the paper (for the youngsterwasthinking of his mammaand that he might never seeheragain)Dobbinwho was going to write off a letter toGeorgeOsbornerelentedand locked up his desk.  "Whyshould I?"said he.  "Let her have this night happy.  I'll goand see myparents early in the morningand go down toBrightonmyself to-morrow."

So he wentup and laid his big hand on young Stubble'sshoulderand backed up that young championand toldhim if hewould leave off brandy and water he wouldbe a goodsoldieras he always was a gentlemanly good-heartedfellow.  Young Stubble's eyes brightened up at thisfor Dobbinwas greatly respected in the regimentas thebestofficer and the cleverest man in it.

"ThankyouDobbin" he saidrubbing his eyes withhisknuckles"I was just--just telling her I would.  AndO Sirshe's so dam kind to me." The water pumps wereat workagainand I am not sure that the soft-heartedCaptain'seyes did not also twinkle.

The twoensignsthe Captainand Mr. Chopperdinedtogetherin the same box.  Chopper brought the letter fromMr.Osbornein which the latter briefly presented hiscomplimentsto Captain Dobbinand requested him toforwardthe inclosed to Captain George Osborne.  Chopperknewnothing further; he described Mr. Osborne's appearanceit istrueand his interview with his lawyerwonderedhow thegovernor had sworn at nobodyand--especiallyas thewine circled round--abounded in speculationsandconjectures.  But these grew more vague witheveryglassand at length became perfectly unintelligible.At a latehour Captain Dobbin put his guest into a hackneycoachina hiccupping stateand swearing that he wouldbe thekick--the kick--Captain's friend for ever and ever.

WhenCaptain Dobbin took leave of Miss Osborne wehave saidthat he asked leave to come and pay heranothervisitand the spinster expected him for some hoursthe nextdaywhenperhapshad he comeand had heasked herthat question which she was prepared to answershe wouldhave declared herself as her brother'sfriendand a reconciliation might have been effectedbetweenGeorge and his angry father.  But though she waitedat homethe Captain never came.  He had his own affairsto pursue;his own parents to visit and console; and at anearly hourof the day to take his place on the Lightningcoachandgo down to his friends at Brighton.  In thecourse ofthe day Miss Osborne heard her father giveordersthat that meddling scoundrelCaptain Dobbinshouldnever be admitted within his doors againand anyhopes inwhich she may have indulged privately were thusabruptlybrought to an end.  Mr. Frederick Bullock cameand wasparticularly affectionate to Mariaand attentiveto thebroken-spirited old gentleman.  For though he saidhis mindwould be easythe means which he had taken tosecurequiet did not seem to have succeeded as yetandthe eventsof the past two days had visibly shattered him.

CHAPTERXXVInWhich All the Principal Personages Think FittoLeave Brighton

Conductedto the ladiesat the Ship InnDobbin assumeda jovialand rattling mannerwhich proved that thisyoungofficer was becoming a more consummate hypocriteevery dayof his life.  He was trying to hide his ownprivatefeelingsfirst upon seeing Mrs. George Osbornein her newconditionand secondly to mask theapprehensionshe entertained as to the effect whichthe dismalnews brought down by him would certainlyhave uponher.

"Itis my opinionGeorge" he said"that the FrenchEmperorwill be upon ushorse and footbefore threeweeks areoverand will give the Duke such a dance asshall makethe Peninsula appear mere child's play.  Butyou neednot say that to Mrs. Osborneyou know.  Theremayn't beany fighting on our side after alland ourbusinessin Belgium may turn out to be a mere militaryoccupation. Many persons think so; and Brussels is fullof finepeople and ladies of fashion." So it was agreed torepresentthe duty of the British army in Belgium in thisharmlesslight to Amelia.

This plotbeing arrangedthe hypocritical Dobbin salutedMrs.George Osborne quite gailytried to pay herone or twocompliments relative to her new position as abride(which complimentsit must be confessedwereexceedinglyclumsy and hung fire woefully)and then fellto talkingabout Brightonand the sea-airand the gaietiesof theplaceand the beauties of the road and the meritsof theLightning coach and horses--all in a mannerquiteincomprehensible to Ameliaand very amusing toRebeccawho was watching the Captainas indeed shewatchedevery one near whom she came.

LittleAmeliait must be ownedhad rather a meanopinion ofher husband's friendCaptain Dobbin.  He lisped--he wasvery plain and homely-looking: and exceedinglyawkwardand ungainly.  She liked him for his attachmentto herhusband (to be sure there was very little merit inthat)andshe thought George was most generous andkind inextending his friendship to his brother officer.George hadmimicked Dobbin's lisp and queer mannersmany timesto herthough to do him justicehe alwaysspoke mosthighly of his friend's good qualities.  In herlittle dayof triumphand not knowing him intimately asyetshemade light of honest William--and he knew heropinionsof him quite welland acquiesced in them veryhumbly. A time came when she knew him betterandchangedher notions regarding him; but that was distant asyet.

As forRebeccaCaptain Dobbin had not been two hoursin theladies' company before she understood his secretperfectly. She did not like himand feared him privately;nor was hevery much prepossessed in her favour.  Hewas sohonestthat her arts and cajoleries did not affecthimandhe shrank from her with instinctive repulsion.Andasshe was by no means so far superior to her sex asto beabove jealousyshe disliked him the more for hisadorationof Amelia.  Neverthelessshe was very respectfulandcordial in her manner towards him.  A friend totheOsbornes! a friend to her dearest benefactors!  Shevowed sheshould always love him sincerely: she rememberedhim quitewell on the Vauxhall nightas she toldAmeliaarchlyand she made a little fun of him when thetwo ladieswent to dress for dinner.  Rawdon Crawley paidscarcelyany attention to Dobbinlooking upon him as agood-naturednincompoop and under-bred City man.  Jospatronisedhim with much dignity.

WhenGeorge and Dobbin were alone in the latter'sroomtowhich George had followed himDobbin tookfrom hisdesk the letter which he had been charged byMr.Osborne to deliver to his son.  "It's not in my father'shandwriting"said Georgelooking rather alarmed; norwas it:the letter was from Mr. Osborne's lawyerand tothefollowing effect:

BedfordRowMay 71815.   SIR

I amcommissioned by Mr. Osborne to inform youthat heabides by the determination which he beforeexpressedto youand that in consequence of the marriagewhich youhave been pleased to contracthe ceases toconsideryou henceforth as a member of his family.Thisdetermination is final and irrevocable.

Althoughthe monies expended upon you in yourminorityand the bills which you have drawn uponhim sounsparingly of late yearsfar exceed in amountthe sum towhich you are entitled in your own right(being thethird part of the fortune of your motherthe lateMrs. Osborne and which reverted to you at herdeceaseand to Miss Jane Osborne and Miss MariaFrancesOsborne); yet I am instructed by Mr. Osborneto saythat he waives all claim upon your estateandthat thesum of 20001.4 per cent. annuitiesat thevalue ofthe day (being your one-third share of the sumof60001.)shall be paid over to yourself or your agentsupon yourreceipt for the sameby

Yourobedient Servt.

S. HIGGS.

P.S.--Mr.Osborne desires me to sayonce for allthat hedeclines to receive any messageslettersorcommunicationsfrom you on this or any other subject.

"Apretty way you have managed the affair" saidGeorgelooking savagely at William Dobbin.  "Look thereDobbin"and he flung over to the latter his parent's letter."Abeggarby Joveand all in consequence of my d--dsentimentality. Why couldn't we have waited?  A ball mighthave donefor me in the course of the warand may stilland howwill Emmy be bettered by being left a beggar'swidow? It was all your doing.  You were never easy untilyou hadgot me married and ruined.  What the deuce amI to dowith two thousand pounds?  Such a sum won'tlast twoyears.  I've lost a hundred and forty to Crawley atcards andbilliards since I've been down here.  A prettymanager ofa man's matters YOU areforsooth."

"There'sno denying that the position is a hard one"Dobbinrepliedafter reading over the letter with a blankcountenance;"and as you sayit is partly of my making.There aresome men who wouldn't mind changing withyou"he addedwith a bitter smile.  "How many captainsin theregiment have two thousand pounds to the forethinkyou?  You must live on your pay till your fatherrelentsand if you dieyou leave your wife a hundred ayear."

"Doyou suppose a man of my habits call live on hispay and ahundred a year?" George cried out in greatanger. "You must be a fool to talk soDobbin.  How thedeuce am Ito keep up my position in the world uponsuch apitiful pittance?  I can't change my habits.  I musthave mycomforts.  I wasn't brought up on porridgelikeMacWhirteror on potatoeslike old O'Dowd.  Do youexpect mywife to take in soldiers' washingor ride aftertheregiment in a baggage waggon?"

"Wellwell" said Dobbinstill good-naturedly"we'llget her abetter conveyance.  But try and remember thatyou areonly a dethroned prince nowGeorgemy boy;and bequiet whilst the tempest lasts.  It won't be forlong. Let your name be mentioned in the GazetteandI'llengage the old father relents towards you:"

"Mentionedin the Gazette!" George answered.  "And inwhat partof it?  Among the killed and wounded returnsand at thetop of the listvery likely."

"Psha! It will be time enough to cry out when we arehurt"Dobbin said.  "And if anything happensyou knowGeorgeIhave got a littleand I am not a marryingmanand Ishall not forget my godson in my will" headdedwith a smile.  Whereupon the dispute ended--asmanyscores of  such conversations between Osborneand hisfriend had concluded previously--by the formerdeclaringthere was no possibility of being angry withDobbinlongand forgiving him very generously afterabusinghim without cause.

"IsayBecky" cried Rawdon Crawley out of hisdressing-roomto his ladywho was attiring herself fordinner inher own chamber.

"What?"said Becky's shrill voice.  She was lookingover hershoulder in the glass.  She had put on the neatestandfreshest white frock imaginableand with bareshouldersand a little necklaceand a light blue sashshelooked theimage of youthful innocence and girlishhappiness.

"Isaywhat'll Mrs. O. dowhen 0. goes out with theregiment?"Crawley said coming into the roomperforminga duet onhis head with two huge hair-brushesandlookingout from under his hair with admiration on hisprettylittle wife.

"Isuppose she'll cry her eyes out" Becky answered."Shehas been whimpering half a dozen timesat theverynotion of italready to me."

"YOUdon't careI suppose?" Rawdon saidhalf angryat hiswife's want of feeling.

"Youwretch! don't you know that I intend to go withyou"Becky replied.  "Besidesyou're different.  You goas GeneralTufto's aide-de-camp.  We don't belong to theline"Mrs. Crawley saidthrowing up her head with anair thatso enchanted her husband that he stooped downand kissedit.

"Rawdondear--don't you think--you'd better get that--moneyfrom Cupidbefore he goes?" Becky continuedfixing ona killing bow.  She called George OsborneCupid. She had flattered him about his good looks ascore oftimes already.  She watched over him kindly atecarte ofa night when he would drop in to Rawdon'squartersfor a half-hour before bed-time.

She hadoften called him a horrid dissipated wretchandthreatened to tell Emmy of his wicked ways andnaughtyextravagant habits.  She brought his cigar andlighted itfor him; she knew the effect of that manoeuvrehavingpractised it in former days upon Rawdon Crawley.He thoughther gaybriskarchdistingueedelightful.In theirlittle drives and dinnersBeckyof coursequiteoutshone poor Emmywho remained very muteand timidwhile Mrs. Crawley and her husband rattledawaytogetherand Captain Crawley (and Jos after hejoined theyoung married people) gobbled in silence.

Emmy'smind somehow misgave her about her friend.Rebecca'switspiritsand accomplishments troubled herwith arueful disquiet.  They were only a week marriedand herewas George already suffering ennuiand eagerforothers' society!  She trembled for the future.  Howshall I bea companion for himshe thought--so cleverand sobrilliantand I such a humble foolish creature?How nobleit was of him to marry me--to give up everythingand stoopdown to me!  I ought to have refusedhimonlyI had not the heart.  I ought to have stopped athome andtaken care of poor Papa.  And her neglect ofherparents (and indeed there was some foundation forthischarge which the poor child's uneasy consciencebroughtagainst her) was now remembered for the firsttimeandcaused her to blush with humiliation.  Oh!thoughtsheI have been very wicked and selfish--selfishinforgetting them in their sorrows--selfish in forcingGeorge tomarry me.  I know I'm not worthy of him--Iknow hewould have been happy without me--and yet--I triedItried to give him up.

It is hardwhenbefore seven days of marriage areoversuchthoughts and confessions as these forcethemselveson a little bride's mind.  But so it wasand thenightbefore Dobbin came to join these young people--on a finebrilliant moonlight night of May--so warmand balmythat the windows were flung open to the balconyfrom whichGeorge and Mrs. Crawley were gazing uponthe calmocean spread shining before themwhileRawdon and Jos were engaged at backgammonwithin--Ameliacouched in a great chair quite neglectedandwatchingboth these partiesfelt a despair and remorsesuch aswere bitter companions for that tender lonelysoul. Scarce a week was pastand it was come to this!Thefuturehad she regarded itoffered a dismal prospect;but Emmywas too shyso to speakto look to thatand embarkalone on that wide seaand unfit to navigateit withouta guide and protector.  I know Miss Smith hasa meanopinion of her.  But how manymy dear Madamareendowed with your prodigious strength of mind?

"Gadwhat a fine nightand how bright the moon is!"Georgesaidwith a puff of his cigarwhich went soaringupskywards.

"Howdelicious they smell in the open air!  I adorethem. Who'd think the moon was two hundred and thirty-sixthousand eight hundred and forty-seven miles off?"Beckyaddedgazing at that orb with a smile.  "Isn't itclever ofme to remember that?  Pooh!  we learned it allat MissPinkerton's!  How calm the sea isand how cleareverything. I declare I can almost see the coast ofFrance!"and her bright green eyes streamed outandshot intothe night as if they could see through it.

"Doyou know what I intend to do one morning?" shesaid; "Ifind I can swim beautifullyand some daywhenmy AuntCrawley's companion--old Briggsyou know--youremember her--that hook-nosed womanwith thelong wispsof hair--when Briggs goes out to batheIintend todive under her awningand insist on areconciliationin the water.  Isn't that a stratagem?"

Georgeburst out laughing at the idea of this aquaticmeeting. "What's the row thereyou two?" Rawdonshoutedoutrattling the box.  Amelia was making a foolof herselfin an absurd hysterical mannerand retiredto her ownroom to whimper in private.

Ourhistory is destined in this chapter to go backwardsandforwards in a very irresolute manner seeminglyandhavingconducted our story to to-morrow presentlyweshallimmediately again have occasion to step back toyesterdayso that the whole of the tale may get a hearing.As youbehold at her Majesty's drawing-roomtheambassadors'and high dignitaries' carriages whisk offfrom aprivate doorwhile Captain Jones's ladies are waitingfor theirfly: as you see in the Secretary of the Treasury'santechambera half-dozen of petitioners waitingpatientlyfor their audienceand called out one by onewhensuddenly an Irish member or some eminent personageenters theapartmentand instantly walks into Mr.Under-Secretaryover the heads of all the people present:so in theconduct of a talethe romancer is obliged toexercisethis most partial sort of justice.  Although all thelittleincidents must be heardyet they must be put offwhen thegreat events make their appearance; and surelysuch acircumstance as that which brought Dobbin toBrightonviz.the ordering out of the Guards and the linetoBelgiumand the mustering of the allied armies in thatcountryunder the command of his Grace the Duke ofWellington--sucha dignified circumstance as thatI saywasentitled to the pas over all minor occurrences whereofthishistory is composed mainlyand hence a littletriflingdisarrangement and disorder was excusable andbecoming. We have only now advanced in time so farbeyondChapter XXII as to have got our various charactersup intotheir dressing-rooms before the dinnerwhich tookplace as usual on the day of Dobbin's arrival.

George wastoo humane or too much occupied with thetie of hisneckcloth to convey at once all the news toAmeliawhich his comrade had brought with him fromLondon. He came into her roomhoweverholding theattorney'sletter in his handand with so solemn andimportantan air that his wifealways ingeniously onthe watchfor calamitythought the worst was about tobefalland running up to her husbandbesought herdearestGeorge to tell her everything--he was orderedabroad;there would be a battle next week--she knewtherewould.

DearestGeorge parried the question about foreignserviceand with a melancholy shake of the head said"NoEmmy; it isn't that:  it's not myself I care about:it's you. I have had bad news from my father.  He refusesanycommunication with me; he has flung us off; andleaves usto poverty.  I can rough it well enough; butyoumydearhow will you bear it? read here." And hehanded herover the letter.

Ameliawith a look of tender alarm in her eyeslistenedto her noble hero as he uttered the above generoussentimentsand sitting down on the bedread the letterwhichGeorge gave her with such a pompous martyr-likeair. Her face cleared up as she read the documenthowever.The ideaof sharing poverty and privation in companywith thebeloved object isas we have before saidfar frombeing disagreeable to a warm-hearted woman.The notionwas actually pleasant to little Amelia.  Thenas usualshe was ashamed of herself for feeling happy atsuch anindecorous momentand checked her pleasuresayingdemurely"OGeorgehow your poor heart mustbleed atthe idea of being separated from your papa!"

"Itdoes" said Georgewith an agonised countenance.

"Buthe can't be angry with you long" she continued."NobodycouldI'm sure.  He must forgive youmydearestkindest husband.  OI shall never forgive myselfif he doesnot."

"Whatvexes memy poor Emmyis not my misfortunebutyours" George said.  "I don't care for a littlepoverty;and I thinkwithout vanityI've talents enoughto make myown way."

"Thatyou have" interposed his wifewho thought thatwar shouldceaseand her husband should be made ageneralinstantly.

"YesI shall make my way as well as another" Osbornewent on;"but youmy dear girlhow can I bearyour beingdeprived of the comforts and station insocietywhich my wife had a right to expect?  My dearestgirl inbarracks; the wife of a soldier in a marchingregiment;subject to all sorts of annoyance and privation!It makesme miserable."

Emmyquite at easeas this was her husband's onlycause ofdisquiettook his handand with a radiant faceand smilebegan to warble that stanza from the favouritesong of"Wapping Old Stairs" in which the heroineafterrebukingher Tom for inattentionpromises "his trousersto mendand his grog too to make" if he will be constantand kindand not forsake her.  "Besides" she saidafter apauseduring which she looked as pretty andhappy asany young woman need"isn't two thousandpounds animmense deal of moneyGeorge?"

Georgelaughed at her naivete; and finally they wentdown todinnerAmelia clinging to George's armstillwarblingthe tune of "Wapping Old Stairs" and morepleasedand light of mind than she had been for somedays past.

Thus therepastwhich at length came offinstead ofbeingdismalwas an exceedingly brisk and merry one.Theexcitement of the campaign counteracted in George'smind thedepression occasioned by the disinheriting letter.Dobbinstill kept up his character of rattle.  He amusedthecompany with accounts of the army in Belgium;wherenothing but fetes and gaiety and fashion weregoing on. Thenhaving a particular end in viewthisdexterouscaptain proceeded to describe Mrs. MajorO'Dowdpacking her own and her Major's wardrobeandhow hisbest epaulets had been stowed into a tea canisterwhilst herown famous yellow turbanwith the bird ofparadisewrapped in brown paperwas locked up in theMajor'stin cocked-hat caseand wondered what effectit wouldhave at the French king's court at Ghentor thegreatmilitary balls at Brussels.

"Ghent!Brussels!" cried out Amelia with a suddenshock andstart.  "Is the regiment ordered awayGeorge--is itordered away?" A look of terror came over thesweetsmiling faceand she clung to George as by aninstinct.

"Don'tbe afraiddear" he said good-naturedly; "itis but atwelve hours' passage.  It won't hurt you.  Youshall gotooEmmy."

"Iintend to go" said Becky.  "I'm on the staff. GeneralTufto is agreat flirt of mine.  Isn't heRawdon?"Rawdonlaughed out with his usual roar.  WilliamDobbinflushed up quite red.  "She can't go" he said; "thinkof the--ofthe danger" he was going to add; but hadnot allhis conversation during dinner-time tended toprovethere was none?  He became very confused andsilent.

"Imust and will go" Amelia cried with the greatestspirit;and Georgeapplauding her resolutionpatted herunder thechinand asked all the persons present ifthey eversaw such a termagant of a wifeand agreedthat thelady should bear him company.  "We'll haveMrs.O'Dowd to chaperon you" he said.  What cared sheso long asher husband was near her?  Thus somehowthebitterness of a parting was juggled away.  Though warand dangerwere in storewar and danger might notbefall formonths to come.  There was a respite at any ratewhich madethe timid little Amelia almost as happy asa fullreprieve would have doneand which even Dobbinowned inhis heart was very welcome.  Forto be permittedto see herwas now the greatest privilege and hopeof hislifeand he thought with himself secretly how hewouldwatch and protect her.  I wouldn't have let her goif I hadbeen married to herhe thought.  But George wasthemasterand his friend did not think fit to remonstrate.

Puttingher arm round her friend's waistRebecca atlengthcarried Amelia off from the dinner-table where somuchbusiness of importance had been discussedandleft thegentlemen in a highly exhilarated statedrinkingandtalking very gaily.

In thecourse of the evening Rawdon got a little family-note fromhis wifewhichalthough he crumpled it upand burntit instantly in the candlewe had the goodluck toread over Rebecca's shoulder.  "Great news" shewrote. "Mrs. Bute is gone.  Get the money from Cupid tonightas he'llbe off to-morrow most likely.  Mind this.--R."So when the little company was about adjourningto coffeein the women's apartmentRawdon touchedOsborne onthe elbowand said gracefully"I sayOsbornemy boyifquite convenientI'll trouble you forthat 'eresmall trifle." It was not quite convenientbutneverthelessGeorge gave him a considerable presentinstalmentin bank-notes from his pocket-bookand a billon hisagents at a week's datefor the remaining sum.

Thismatter arrangedGeorgeand Josand Dobbinheld acouncil of war over their cigarsand agreed that ageneralmove should be made for London in Jos's opencarriagethe next day.  JosI thinkwould have preferredstayinguntil Rawdon Crawley quitted Brightonbut Dobbinand Georgeoverruled himand he agreed to carrythe partyto townand ordered four horsesas became hisdignity. With these they set off in stateafter breakfastthe nextday.  Amelia had risen very early in the morningand packedher little trunks with the greatest alacritywhileOsborne lay in bed deploring that she had not amaid tohelp her.  She was only too gladhowevertoperformthis office for herself.  A dim uneasy sentimentaboutRebecca filled her mind already; and although theykissedeach other most tenderly at partingyet we knowwhatjealousy is; and Mrs. Amelia possessed that amongothervirtues of her sex.

Besidesthese characters who are coming and goingawaywemust remember that there were some other oldfriends ofours at Brighton; Miss Crawleynamelyandthe suitein attendance upon her.  Nowalthough Rebeccaand herhusband were but at a few stones' throw of thelodgingswhich the invalid Miss Crawley occupiedtheold lady'sdoor remained as pitilessly closed to them as ithad beenheretofore in London.  As long as she remainedby theside of her sister-in-lawMrs. Bute Crawley tookcare thather beloved Matilda should not be agitated by ameetingwith her nephew.  When the spinster took herdrivethefaithful Mrs. Bute sate beside her in the carriage.When MissCrawley took the air in a chairMrs.Butemarched on one side of the vehiclewhilst honestBriggsoccupied the other wing.  And if they met Rawdonand hiswife by chance--although the former constantlyandobsequiously took off his hatthe Miss-Crawley partypassed himby with such a frigid and killing indifferencethatRawdon began to despair.

"Wemight as well be in London as here" CaptainRawdonoften saidwith a downcast air.

"Acomfortable inn in Brighton is better than aspunging-housein Chancery Lane" his wife answeredwho wasof a morecheerful temperament.  "Think of those twoaides-de-campof Mr. Mosesthe sheriff's-officerwhowatchedour lodging for a week.  Our friends here areverystupidbut Mr. Jos and Captain Cupid are bettercompanionsthan Mr. Moses's menRawdonmy love."

"Iwonder the writs haven't followed me down here"Rawdoncontinuedstill desponding.

"Whenthey dowe'll find means to give them the slip"saiddauntless little Beckyand further pointed out to herhusbandthe great comfort and advantage of meetingJos andOsbornewhose acquaintance had brought toRawdonCrawley a most timely little supply of readymoney.

"Itwill hardly be enough to pay the inn bill" grumbledtheGuardsman.

"Whyneed we pay it?" said the ladywho had an answerforeverything.

ThroughRawdon's valetwho still kept up a triflingacquaintancewith the male inhabitants of Miss Crawley'sservants'halland was instructed to treat the coachmanto drinkwhenever they metold Miss Crawley's movementswerepretty well known by our young couple; andRebeccaluckily bethought herself of being unwelland ofcalling inthe same apothecary who was in attendanceupon thespinsterso that their information was on thewholetolerably complete.  Nor was Miss Briggsalthoughforced toadopt a hostile attitudesecretly inimical toRawdon andhis wife.  She was naturally of a kindly andforgivingdisposition.  Now that the cause of jealousy wasremovedher dislike for Rebecca disappeared alsoandsheremembered the latter's invariable good wordsand goodhumour.  Andindeedshe and Mrs.Firkinthe lady's-maidand the whole of Miss Crawley'shouseholdgroaned under the tyranny of thetriumphantMrs. Bute.

As oftenwill be the casethat good but imperiouswomanpushed her advantages too farand her successesquiteunmercifully.  She had in the course of a few weeksbroughtthe invalid to such a state of helpless docilitythat thepoor soul yielded herself entirely to her sister'sordersand did not even dare to complain of her slaveryto Briggsor Firkin.  Mrs. Bute measured out the glassesof winewhich Miss Crawley was daily allowed to takewithirresistible accuracygreatly to the annoyance ofFirkin andthe butlerwho found themselves deprived ofcontrolover even the sherry-bottle.  She apportioned thesweetbreadsjellieschickens; their quantity and order.Night andnoon and morning she brought the abominabledrinksordained by the Doctorand made her patientswallowthem with so affecting an obedience that Firkinsaid "mypoor Missus du take her physic like a lamb." Sheprescribedthe drive in the carriage or the ride in thechairandin a wordground down the old lady in herconvalescencein such a way as only belongs to yourproper-managingmotherly moral woman.  If ever thepatientfaintly resistedand pleaded for a little bit moredinner ora little drop less medicinethe nurse threatenedher withinstantaneous deathwhen Miss Crawleyinstantlygave in.  "She's no spirit left in her" Firkinremarkedto Briggs; "she ain't ave called me a fool thesethreeweeks." FinallyMrs. Bute had made up her mindto dismissthe aforesaid honest lady's-maidMr. Bowlsthe largeconfidential manand Briggs herselfand tosend forher daughters from the Rectoryprevious toremovingthe dear invalid bodily to Queen's Crawleywhenan odiousaccident happened which called her away fromduties sopleasing.  The Reverend Bute Crawleyherhusbandriding home one nightfell with his horse andbroke hiscollar-bone.  Fever and inflammatory symptomsset inand Mrs. Bute was forced to leave Sussex forHampshire. As soon as ever Bute was restoredshepromisedto return to her dearest friendand departedleavingthe strongest injunctions with the householdregardingtheir behaviour to their mistress; and as soon asshe gotinto the Southampton coachthere was such ajubileeand sense of relief in all Miss Crawley's houseas thecompany of persons assembled there had notexperiencedfor many a week before.  That very day MissCrawleyleft off her afternoon dose of medicine:  thatafternoonBowls opened an independent bottle of sherryforhimself and Mrs. Firkin:  that night Miss Crawleyand MissBriggs indulged in a game of piquet insteadof one ofPorteus's sermons.  It was as in the old nursery-storywhen the stick forgot to beat the dogand thewholecourse of events underwent a peaceful and happyrevolution.

At a veryearly hour in the morningtwice or thrice aweekMissBriggs used to betake herself to a bathing-machineand disport in the water in a flannel gown andan oilskincap.  Rebeccaas we have seenwas aware ofthiscircumstanceand though she did not attempt tostormBriggs as she had threatenedand actually diveinto thatlady's presence and surprise her under thesacrednessof the awningMrs. Rawdon determined toattackBriggs as she came away from her bathrefreshedandinvigorated by her dipand likely to be in goodhumour.

So gettingup very early the next morningBeckybroughtthe telescope in their sitting-roomwhich facedthe seato bear upon the bathing-machines on the beach;saw Briggsarriveenter her box; and put out to sea;and was onthe shore just as the nymph of whom shecame inquest stepped out of the little caravan on to theshingles. It was a pretty picture:  the beach; the bathing-women'sfaces; the long line of rocks and building wereblushingand bright in the sunshine.  Rebecca wore a kindtendersmile on her faceand was holding out her prettywhite handas Briggs emerged from the box.  What couldBriggs dobut accept the salutation?

"MissSh--Mrs. Crawley" she said.

Mrs.Crawley seized her handpressed it to her heartand with asudden impulseflinging her arms roundBriggskissed her affectionately.  "Deardear friend!" shesaidwitha touch of such natural feelingthat MissBriggs ofcourse at once began to meltand even thebathing-womanwas mollified.

Rebeccafound no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a longintimateand delightful conversation.  Everything that hadpassedsince the morning of Becky's sudden departurefrom MissCrawley's house in Park Lane up to the presentdayandMrs. Bute's happy retreatwas discussed anddescribedby Briggs.  All Miss Crawley's symptomsandtheparticulars of her illness and medical treatmentwerenarratedby the confidante with that fulness andaccuracywhich women delight in.  About their complaintsand theirdoctors do ladies ever tire of talking to eachother? Briggs did not on this occasion; nor did Rebeccaweary oflistening.  She was thankfultruly thankfulthatthe dearkind Briggsthat the faithfulthe invaluableFirkinhad been permitted to remain with their benefactressthroughher illness.  Heaven bless her! though sheRebeccahad seemed to act undutifully towards MissCrawley;yet was not her fault a natural and excusable one?Could shehelp giving her hand to the man who had wonherheart?  Briggsthe sentimentalcould only turn upher eyesto heaven at this appealand heave asympatheticsighand think that shetoohad givenaway heraffections long years agoand own that Rebeccawas novery great criminal.

"CanI ever forget her who so befriended the friendlessorphan? Nothough she has cast me off" the lattersaid"Ishall never cease to love herand I would devotemy life toher service.  As my own benefactressas mybelovedRawdon's adored relativeI love and admire MissCrawleydear Miss Briggsbeyond any woman in theworldandnext to her I love all those who are faithfulto her. I would never have treated Miss Crawley'sfaithfulfriends as that odious designing Mrs. Bute hasdone. Rawdonwho was all heart" Rebecca continued"althoughhis outward manners might seem rough andcarelesshad said a hundred timeswith tears in his eyesthat heblessed Heaven for sending his dearest Aunty twosuchadmirable nurses as her attached Firkin and heradmirableMiss Briggs.  Should the machinations of thehorribleMrs. Bute endas she too much feared they wouldinbanishing everybody that Miss Crawley loved from hersideandleaving that poor lady a victim to those harpiesat theRectoryRebecca besought her (Miss Briggs) torememberthat her own homehumble as it waswasalwaysopen to receive Briggs.  Dear friend" sheexclaimedin a transport of enthusiasm"some heartscan neverforget benefits; all women are not ButeCrawleys! Though why should I complain of her" Rebeccaadded;"though I have been her tool and the victim to herartsdo Inot owe my dearest Rawdon to her?"  AndRebeccaunfolded to Briggs all Mrs. Bute's conduct atQueen'sCrawleywhichthough unintelligible to her thenwasclearly enough explained by the events now--nowthat theattachment had sprung up which Mrs. Bute hadencouragedby a thousand artifices--now that twoinnocentpeople had fallen into the snares which she hadlaid forthemand loved and married and been ruinedthroughher schemes.

It was allvery true.  Briggs saw the stratagems asclearly aspossible.  Mrs. Bute had made the matchbetweenRawdon and Rebecca.  Yetthough the latter was aperfectlyinnocent victimMiss Briggs could not disguisefrom herfriend her fear that Miss Crawley's affectionswerehopelessly estranged from Rebeccaand that the oldlady wouldnever forgive her nephew for making soimprudenta marriage.

On thispoint Rebecca had her own opinionandstill keptup a good heart.  If Miss Crawley did notforgivethem at presentshe might at least relent on afutureday.  Even nowthere was only that pulingsicklyPittCrawley between Rawdon and a baronetcy; and shouldanythinghappen to the formerall would be well.  At alleventstohave Mrs. Bute's designs exposedand herselfwellabusedwas a satisfactionand might be advantageoustoRawdon's interest; and Rebeccaafter an hour'schat withher recovered friendleft her with the mosttenderdemonstrations of regardand quite assured thattheconversation they had had together would bereportedto Miss Crawley before many hours were over.

Thisinterview endedit became full time for Rebeccato returnto her innwhere all the party of the previousday wereassembled at a farewell breakfast.  Rebecca tooksuch atender leave of Amelia as became two women wholoved eachother as sisters; and having used her handkerchiefplentifullyand hung on her friend's neck as if theywereparting for everand waved the handkerchief(which wasquite dryby the way) out of windowas thecarriagedrove offshe came back to the breakfast tableand atesome prawns with a good deal of appetiteconsideringher emotion; and while she was munching thesedelicaciesexplained to Rawdon what had occurred in hermorningwalk between herself and Briggs.  Her hopeswere veryhigh:  she made her husband share them.  Shegenerallysucceeded in making her husband share all heropinionswhether melancholy or cheerful.

"Youwill nowif you pleasemy dearsit down at thewriting-tableand pen me a pretty little letter to MissCrawleyin which you'll say that you are a good boyand thatsort of thing."  So Rawdon sate downand wroteoff"BrightonThursday" and "My dear Aunt" withgreatrapidity: but there the gallant officer's imaginationfailedhim.  He mumbled the end of his penand lookedup in hiswife's face.  She could not help laughing at hisruefulcountenanceand marching up and down the roomwith herhands behind herthe little woman began todictate aletterwhich he took down.

"Beforequitting the country and commencing a campaignwhich verypossibly may be fatal."

"What?"said Rawdonrather surprisedbut took thehumour ofthe phraseand presently wrote it down witha grin.

"Whichvery possibly may be fatalI have comehither--"

"Whynot say come hereBecky?  Come here's grammar"thedragoon interposed.

"Ihave come hither" Rebecca insistedwith a stampof herfoot"to say farewell to my dearest and earliestfriend. I beseech you before I gonot perhaps toreturnonce more to let me press the hand from whichI havereceived nothing but kindnesses all my life."

"Kindnessesall my life" echoed Rawdonscratchingdown thewordsand quite amazed at his own facility ofcomposition.

"Iask nothing from you but that we should part not inanger. I have the pride of my family on some pointsthough noton all.  I married a painter's daughterand amnotashamed of the union."

"Norun me through the body if I am!" Rawdon ejaculated.

"Youold booby" Rebecca saidpinching his ear andlookingover to see that he made no mistakes in spelling--"beseechis not spelt with an aand earliest is."  So healteredthese wordsbowing to the superior knowledge ofhis littleMissis.

"Ithought that you were aware of the progress of myattachment"Rebecca continued:  "I knew that Mrs. ButeCrawleyconfirmed and encouraged it.  But I make noreproaches. I married a poor womanand am content toabide bywhat I have done.  Leave your propertydearAuntasyou will.  I shall never complain of the way inwhich youdispose of it.  I would have you believe that Ilove youfor yourselfand not for money's sake.  I want tobereconciled to you ere I leave England.  Let meletme see youbefore I go.  A few weeks or months hence itmay be toolateand I cannot bear the notion of quittingthecountry without a kind word of farewell from you."

"Shewon't recognise my style in that" said Becky.  "Imade thesentences short and brisk on purpose." Andthisauthentic missive was despatched under cover to MissBriggs.

Old MissCrawley laughed when Briggswith greatmysteryhanded her over this candid and simplestatement. "We may read it now Mrs. Bute is away"she said. "Read it to meBriggs."

WhenBriggs had read the epistle outher patronesslaughedmore.  "Don't you seeyou goose" she said toBriggswho professed to be much touched by the honestaffectionwhich pervaded the composition"don't yousee thatRawdon never wrote a word of it.  He neverwrote tome without asking for money in his lifeand allhisletters are full of bad spellingand dashesand badgrammar. It is that little serpent of a governess who ruleshim."They are all alikeMiss Crawley thought in herheart. They all want me deadand are hankering for mymoney.

"Idon't mind seeing Rawdon" she addedafter apauseandin a tone of perfect indifference.  "I had justas soonshake hands with him as not.  Provided there isno scenewhy shouldn't we meet?  I don't mind.  Buthumanpatience has its limits; and mindmy dearIrespectfullydecline to receive Mrs. Rawdon--I can'tsupportthat quite"--and Miss Briggs was fain to be contentwith thishalf-message of conciliation; and thought thatthe bestmethod of bringing the old lady and her nephewtogetherwas to warn Rawdon to be in waiting on theCliffwhen Miss Crawley went out for her air in herchair.

There theymet.  I don't know whether Miss Crawleyhad anyprivate feeling of regard or emotion upon seeingher oldfavourite; but she held out a couple of fingersto himwith as smiling and good-humoured an airas ifthey hadmet only the day before.  And as for Rawdonhe turnedas red as scarletand wrung off Briggs's handso greatwas his rapture and his confusion at the meeting.Perhaps itwas interest that moved him:  or perhapsaffection: perhaps he was touched by the change whichtheillness of the last weeks had wrought in his aunt.

"Theold girl has always acted like a trump to me" hesaid tohis wifeas he narrated the interview"and I feltyou knowrather queerand that sort of thing.  I walkedby theside of the what-dy'e-call-'emyou knowand toher owndoorwhere Bowls came to help her in.  And Iwanted togo in very muchonly--"

"YOUDIDN'T GO INRawdon!" screamed his wife.

"Nomy dear; I'm hanged if I wasn't afraid when itcame tothe point."

"Youfool! you ought to have gone inand never comeoutagain" Rebecca said.

"Don'tcall me names" said the big Guardsmansulkily."PerhapsI WAS a foolBeckybut you shouldn't sayso";and he gave his wife a looksuch as his countenancecould wearwhen angeredand such as was not pleasantto face.

"Welldearestto-morrow you must be on the look-outand go andsee hermindwhether she asks you or no"Rebeccasaidtrying to soothe her angry yoke-mate.  Onwhich herepliedthat he would do exactly as he likedand wouldjust thank her to keep a civil tongue in herhead--andthe wounded husband went awayand passedtheforenoon at the billiard-roomsulkysilentandsuspicious.

But beforethe night was over he was compelled togive inand ownas usualto his wife's superior prudenceandforesightby the most melancholy confirmation of thepresentimentswhich she had regarding the consequencesof themistake which he had made.  Miss Crawley musthave hadsome emotion upon seeing him and shakinghands withhim after so long a rupture.  She mused uponthemeeting a considerable time.  "Rawdon is getting veryfat andoldBriggs" she said to her companion.  "Hisnose hasbecome redand he is exceedingly coarse inappearance. His marriage to that woman has hopelesslyvulgarisedhim.  Mrs. Bute always said they drank together;and I haveno doubt they do.  Yes:  he smelt of ginabominably. I remarked it.  Didn't you?"

In vainBriggs interposed that Mrs. Bute spoke ill ofeverybody:andas far as a person in her humble positioncouldjudgewas an--

"Anartful designing woman?  Yesso she isand shedoes speakill of every one--but I am certain that womanhas madeRawdon drink.  All those low people do--"

"Hewas very much affected at seeing youma'am" thecompanionsaid; "and I am surewhen you remember thathe isgoing to the field of danger--"

"Howmuch money has he promised youBriggs?" theoldspinster cried outworking herself into a nervousrage--"therenowof course you begin to cry.  I hatescenes. Why am I always to be worried?  Go and cry up inyour ownroomand send Firkin to me-- nostopsitdown andblow your noseand leave off cryingand writea letterto Captain Crawley." Poor Briggs went andplacedherself obediently at the writing-book.  Its leaveswereblotted all over with relics of the firmstrongrapidhandwritingof the spinster's late amanuensisMrs. ButeCrawley.

"Begin'My dear sir' or 'Dear sir' that will be betterand sayyou are desired by Miss Crawley--noby MissCrawley'smedical manby Mr. Creamerto state thatmy healthis such that all strong emotions would bedangerousin my present delicate condition--and that I mustdeclineany family discussions or interviews whatever.And thankhim for coming to Brightonand so forthandbeg himnot to stay any longer on my account.  AndMissBriggsyou may add that I wish him a bon voyageandthat if hewill take the trouble to call upon my lawyer'sin Gray'sInn Squarehe will find there a communicationfor him. Yesthat will do; and that will make him leaveBrighton."The benevolent Briggs penned this sentencewith theutmost satisfaction.

"Toseize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute wasgone"the old lady prattled on; "it was too indecent.Briggsmydearwrite to Mrs. Crawleyand say SHEneedn'tcome back.  No--she needn't--and she shan't--and Iwon't be a slave in my own house--and I won't bestarvedand choked with poison.  They all want to kill me--all--all"--andwith this the lonely old woman burstinto ascream of hysterical tears.

The lastscene of her dismal Vanity Fair comedy wasfastapproaching; the tawdry lamps were going out oneby one;and the dark curtain was almost ready todescend.

That finalparagraphwhich referred Rawdon to MissCrawley'ssolicitor in Londonand which Briggs hadwritten sogood-naturedlyconsoled the dragoon and hiswifesomewhatafter their first blank disappointmentonreadingthe spinster's refusal of a reconciliation.  And iteffectedthe purpose for which the old lady had caused itto bewrittenby making Rawdon very eager to get toLondon.

Out ofJos's losings and George Osborne's bank-noteshe paidhis bill at the innthe landlord whereof does notprobablyknow to this day how doubtfully his accountoncestood.  Foras a general sends his baggage to therearbefore an actionRebecca had wisely packed up alltheirchief valuables and sent them off under care ofGeorge'sservantwho went in charge of the trunks onthe coachback to London.  Rawdon and his wifereturnedby the same conveyance next day.

"Ishould have liked to see the old girl before we went"Rawdonsaid.  "She looks so cut up and altered that I'msure shecan't last long.  I wonder what sort of a chequeI shallhave at Waxy's.  Two hundred--it can't be lessthan twohundred--heyBecky?"

Inconsequence of the repeated visits of the aides-de-camp ofthe Sheriff of MiddlesexRawdon and his wifedid not goback to their lodgings at Bromptonbut putup at aninn.  Early the next morningRebecca had anopportunityof seeing them as she skirted that suburbon herroad to old Mrs. Sedley's house at Fulhamwhithershe wentto look for her dear Amelia and her Brightonfriends. They were all off to Chathamthence to Harwichto takeshipping for Belgium with the regiment--kind oldMrs. Sedley very much depressed and tearfulsolitary. Returning from this visitRebecca found herhusbandwho had been off to Gray's Innand learnt hisfate. He came back furious.

"ByJoveBecky" says he"she's only given me twentypound!"

Though ittold against themselvesthe joke was toogoodandBecky burst out laughing at Rawdon'sdiscomfiture.

CHAPTERXXVIBetweenLondon and Chatham

Onquitting Brightonour friend Georgeas became aperson ofrank and fashion travelling in a barouche withfourhorsesdrove in state to a fine hotel in CavendishSquarewhere a suite of splendid roomsand a tablemagnificentlyfurnished with plate and surrounded by ahalf-dozenof black and silent waiterswas ready toreceivethe young gentleman and his bride.  George did thehonours ofthe place with a princely air to Jos andDobbin;and Ameliafor the first timeand with exceedingshynessand timiditypresided at what George called herown table.

Georgepooh-poohed the wine and bullied the waitersroyallyand Jos gobbled the turtle with immense satisfaction.Dobbinhelped him to it; for the lady of the housebeforewhom the tureen was placedwas so ignorant ofthecontentsthat she was going to help Mr. Sedley withoutbestowingupon him either calipash or calipee.

Thesplendour of the entertainmentand the apartmentsin whichit was givenalarmed Mr. Dobbinwhoremonstratedafter dinnerwhen Jos was asleep in the greatchair. But in vain he cried out against the enormity ofturtle andchampagne that was fit for an archbishop."I'vealways been accustomed to travel like a gentleman"Georgesaid"anddammemy wife shall travel like alady. As long as there's a shot in the lockershe shallwant fornothing" said the generous fellowquite pleasedwithhimself for his magnificence of spirit.  Nor didDobbin tryand convince him that Amelia's happiness was notcentred inturtle-soup.

A whileafter dinnerAmelia timidly expressed a wishto go andsee her mammaat Fulham: which permissionGeorgegranted her with some grumbling.  And she trippedaway toher enormous bedroomin the centre of whichstood theenormous funereal bed"that the EmperorHalixander'ssister slep in when the allied sufferings washere"and put on her little bonnet and shawl with theutmosteagerness and pleasure.  George was still drinkingclaretwhen she returned to the dining-roomand madeno signsof moving.  "Ar'n't you coming with medearest?"she askedhim.  No; the "dearest" had "business"thatnight.  His man should get her a coach and go withher. And the coach being at the door of the hotelAmeliamadeGeorge a little disappointed curtsey after lookingvainlyinto his face once or twiceand went sadly downthe greatstaircaseCaptain Dobbin afterwho handed herinto thevehicleand saw it drive away to its destination.The veryvalet was ashamed of mentioning the address tothehackney-coachman before the hotel waitersandpromisedto instruct him when they got further on.

Dobbinwalked home to his old quarters and theSlaughters'thinking very likely that it would be delightfulto be inthat hackney-coachalong with Mrs. Osborne.George wasevidently of quite a different taste; for whenhe hadtaken wine enoughhe went off to half-price atthe playto see Mr. Kean perform in Shylock.  CaptainOsbornewas a great lover of the dramaand had himselfperformedhigh-comedy characters with great distinctionin severalgarrison theatrical entertainments.  Jos slept onuntil longafter darkwhen he woke up with a start atthemotions of his servantwho was removing andemptyingthe decanters on the table; and the hackney-coachstand wasagain put into requisition for a carriage toconveythis stout hero to his lodgings and bed.

Mrs.Sedleyyou may be sureclasped her daughter toher heartwith all maternal eagerness and affectionrunningout of the door as the carriage drew up before thelittlegarden-gateto welcome the weepingtremblingyoungbride.  Old Mr. Clappwho was in his shirt-sleevestrimmingthe garden-plotshrank back alarmed.  The Irishservant-lassrushed up from the kitchen and smiled a"Godbless you."  Amelia could hardly walk along theflags andup the steps into the parlour.

How thefloodgates were openedand mother anddaughterweptwhen they were together embracing eachother inthis sanctuarymay readily be imagined by everyreader whopossesses the least sentimental turn.  Whendon'tladies weep?  At what occasion of joysorroworotherbusiness of lifeandafter such an event as amarriagemother and daughter were surely at liberty to giveway to asensibility which is as tender as it is refreshing.About aquestion of marriage I have seen womenwho hateeach other kiss and cry together quite fondly.How muchmore do they feel when they love!  Good mothersaremarried over again at their daughters' weddings:and as forsubsequent eventswho does not know howultra-maternalgrandmothers are?--in fact a womanuntilshe is agrandmotherdoes not often really know what tobe amother is.  Let us respect Amelia and her mammawhisperingand whimpering and laughing and crying intheparlour and the twilight.  Old Mr. Sedley did.  HE hadnotdivined who was in the carriage when it drove up.  Hehad notflown out to meet his daughterthough he kissedher verywarmly when she entered the room (where hewasoccupiedas usualwith his papers and tapes andstatementsof accounts)and after sitting with the motheranddaughter for a short timehe very wisely left thelittleapartment in their possession.

George'svalet was looking on in a very superciliousmanner atMr. Clapp in his shirt-sleeveswatering hisrose-bushes. He took off his hathoweverwith muchcondescensionto Mr. Sedleywho asked news abouthisson-in-lawand about Jos's carriageand whether hishorses hadbeen down to Brightonand about thatinfernaltraitor Bonapartyand the war; until the Irishmaid-servantcame with a plate and a bottle of winefrom whichthe old gentleman insisted upon helping thevalet. He gave him a half-guinea toowhich the servantpocketedwith a mixture of wonder and contempt.  "Tothe healthof your master and mistressTrotter" Mr.Sedleysaid"and here's something to drink your healthwhen youget homeTrotter."

There werebut nine days past since Amelia had leftthatlittle cottage and home--and yet how far off thetimeseemed since she had bidden it farewell.  What agulf laybetween her and that past life.  She could lookback to itfrom her present standing-placeand contemplatealmost asanother beingthe young unmarried girlabsorbedin her lovehaving no eyes but for one specialobjectreceiving parental affection if not ungratefullyat leastindifferentlyand as if it were her due--herwholeheart and thoughts bent on the accomplishment ofonedesire.  The review of those daysso lately gone yetso farawaytouched her with shame; and the aspect ofthe kindparents filled her with tender remorse.  Was theprizegained--the heaven of life--and the winner stilldoubtfuland unsatisfied?  As his hero and heroine passthematrimonial barrierthe novelist generally drops thecurtainas if the drama were over then:  the doubts andstrugglesof life ended:  as ifonce landed in the marriagecountryall were green and pleasant there:  and wifeandhusband had nothing to do but to link each other'sarmstogetherand wander gently downwards towardsold age inhappy and perfect fruition.  But our littleAmelia wasjust on the bank of her new countryand wasalreadylooking anxiously back towards the sad friendlyfigureswaving farewell to her across the streamfrom theotherdistant shore.

In honourof the young bride's arrivalher motherthought itnecessary to prepare I don't know what festiveentertainmentand after the first ebullition of talktookleave ofMrs. George Osborne for a whileand diveddown tothe lower regions of the house to a sort ofkitchen-parlour(occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Clappandin theeveningwhen her dishes were washed and hercurl-papersremovedby Miss Flanniganthe Irish servant)there totake measures for the preparing of a magnificentornamentedtea.  All people have their ways ofexpressingkindnessand it seemed to Mrs. Sedley that amuffin anda quantity of orange marmalade spread outin alittle cut-glass saucer would be peculiarly agreeablerefreshmentsto Amelia in her most interesting situation.

Whilethese delicacies were being transacted belowAmelialeaving the drawing-roomwalked upstairs andfoundherselfshe scarce knew howin the little roomwhich shehad occupied before her marriageand in thatvery chairin which she had passed so many bitter hours.She sankback in its arms as if it were an old friend;and fellto thinking over the past weekand the lifebeyondit.  Already to be looking sadly and vaguely back:always tobe pining for something whichwhen obtainedbroughtdoubt and sadness rather than pleasure; herewas thelot of our poor little creature and harmless lostwandererin the great struggling crowds of Vanity Fair.

Here shesateand recalled to herself fondly that imageof Georgeto which she had knelt before marriage.  Didshe own toherself how different the real man was fromthatsuperb young hero whom she had worshipped?  Itrequiresmanymany years--and a man must be very badindeed--beforea woman's pride and vanity will let herown tosuch a confession.  Then Rebecca's twinklinggreen eyesand baleful smile lighted upon herand filledher withdismay.  And so she sate for awhile indulgingin herusual mood of selfish broodingin that verylistlessmelancholy attitude in which the honest maid-servanthad foundheron the day when she brought up theletter inwhich George renewed his offer of marriage.

She lookedat the little white bedwhich had been hersa few daysbeforeand thought she would like to sleepin it thatnightand wakeas formerlywith her mothersmilingover her in the morning:  Then she thought withterror ofthe great funereal damask pavilion in the vastand dingystate bedroomwhich was awaiting her at thegrandhotel in Cavendish Square.  Dear little white bed!how many along night had she wept on its pillow!How shehad despaired and hoped to die there; and nowwere notall her wishes accomplishedand the lover ofwhom shehad despaired her own for ever?  Kind mother!howpatiently and tenderly she had watched round thatbed! She went and knelt down by the bedside; and therethiswounded and timorousbut gentle and loving soulsought forconsolationwhere as yetit must be ownedour littlegirl had but seldom looked for it.  Love hadbeen herfaith hitherto; and the sadbleeding disappointedheartbegan to feel the want of another consoler.

Have we aright to repeat or to overhear her prayers?Thesebrotherare secretsand out of the domain ofVanityFairin which our story lies.

But thismay be saidthat when the tea was finallyannouncedour young lady came downstairs a great dealmorecheerful; that she did not despondor deplore herfateorthink about George's coldnessor Rebecca's eyesas she hadbeen wont to do of late.  She went downstairsand kissedher father and motherand talked tothe oldgentlemanand made him more merry than hehad beenfor many a day.  She sate down at the pianowhichDobbin had bought for herand sang over all herfather'sfavourite old songs.  She pronounced the tea tobeexcellentand praised the exquisite taste in whichthemarmalade was arranged in the saucers.  And indeterminingto make everybody else happyshe foundherselfso; and was sound asleep in the great funerealpavilionand only woke up with a smile when Georgearrivedfrom the theatre.

For thenext dayGeorge had more important "business"totransact than that which took him to see Mr.Kean inShylock.  Immediately on his arrival in Londonhe hadwritten off to his father's solicitorssignifying hisroyalpleasure that an interview should take place betweenthem onthe morrow.  His hotel billlosses atbilliardsand cards to Captain Crawley had almost drainedthe youngman's pursewhich wanted replenishing beforehe set outon his travelsand he had no resource buttoinfringe upon the two thousand pounds which theattorneyswere commissioned to pay over to him.  Hehad aperfect belief in his own mind that his fatherwouldrelent before very long.  How could any parentbeobdurate for a length of time against such aparagon ashe was?  If his mere past and personal merits didnotsucceed in mollifying his fatherGeorge determinedthat hewould distinguish himself so prodigiously in theensuingcampaign that the old gentleman must give in tohim. And if not?  Bah! the world was before him.  Hisluck mightchange at cardsand there was a deal ofspendingin two thousand pounds.

So he sentoff Amelia once more in a carriage to hermammawith strict orders and carte blanche to the twoladies topurchase everything requisite for a lady of Mrs.GeorgeOsborne's fashionwho was going on a foreigntour. They had but one day to complete the outfitandit may beimagined that their business therefore occupiedthempretty fully.  In a carriage once morebustlingabout frommilliner to linen-draperescorted back to thecarriageby obsequious shopmen or polite ownersMrs.Sedley washerself again almostand sincerely happy forthe firsttime since their misfortunes.  Nor was Mrs.Amelia atall above the pleasure of shoppingandbargainingand seeing and buying pretty things.  (Wouldany manthe most philosophicgive twopence for awoman whowas?)  She gave herself a little treatobedientto her husband's ordersand purchased aquantityof lady's gearshowing a great deal of taste andelegantdiscernmentas all the shopfolks said.

And aboutthe war that was ensuingMrs. Osbornewas notmuch alarmed; Bonaparty was to be crushedalmostwithout a struggle.  Margate packets were sailingevery dayfilled with men of fashion and ladies of noteon theirway to Brussels and Ghent.  People were goingnot somuch to a war as to a fashionable tour.  Thenewspaperslaughed the wretched upstart and swindler toscorn. Such a Corsican wretch as that withstand thearmies ofEurope and the genius of the immortalWellington! Amelia held him in utter contempt; for it needsnot to besaid that this soft and gentle creature took heropinionsfrom those people who surrounded hersuchfidelitybeing much too humble-minded to think for itself.Wellin awordshe and her mother performed agreatday's shoppingand she acquitted herself withconsiderableliveliness and credit on this her firstappearancein the genteel world of London.

Georgemeanwhilewith his hat on one sidehis elbowssquaredand his swaggering martial airmade forBedfordRowand stalked into the attorney's offices as ifhe waslord of every pale-faced clerk who was scribblingthere. He ordered somebody to inform Mr. Higgs thatCaptainOsborne was waitingin a fierce and patronizingwayas ifthe pekin of an attorneywho had thrice hisbrainsfifty times his moneyand a thousand times hisexperiencewas a wretched underling who shouldinstantlyleave all his business in life to attend on theCaptain'spleasure.  He did not see the sneer of contemptwhichpassed all round the roomfrom the firstclerk tothe articled gentsfrom the articled gents to theraggedwriters and white-faced runnersin clothes tootight forthemas he sate there tapping his boot with hiscaneandthinking what a parcel of miserable poor devilsthesewere.  The miserable poor devils knew all about hisaffairs. They talked about them over their pints of beerat theirpublic-house clubs to other clerks of a night.Ye godswhat do not attorneys and attorneys' clerksknow inLondon!  Nothing is hidden from theirinquisitionand their families mutely rule our city.

PerhapsGeorge expectedwhen he entered Mr. Higgs'sapartmentto find that gentleman commissioned to givehim somemessage of compromise or conciliation fromhisfather; perhaps his haughty and cold demeanourwasadopted as a sign of his spirit and resolution:  but ifsohisfierceness was met by a chilling coolness andindifferenceon the attorney's partthat renderedswaggeringabsurd.  He pretended to be writing at a paperwhen theCaptain entered.  "Praysit downsir" said he"andI will attend to your little affair in a moment.  Mr.Poegetthe release papersif you please"; and then hefell towriting again.

Poe havingproduced those papershis chief calculatedthe amountof two thousand pounds stock at the rate ofthe day;and asked Captain Osborne whether he wouldtake thesum in a cheque upon the bankersor whetherhe shoulddirect the latter to purchase stock to thatamount. "One of the late Mrs. Osborne's trustees is outof town"he said indifferently"but my client wishes tomeet yourwishesand have done with the business asquick aspossible."

"Giveme a chequesir" said the Captain very surlily."Damnthe shillings and halfpencesir" he addedas thelawyer wasmaking out the amount of the draft; andflatteringhimself that by this stroke of magnanimity hehad putthe old quiz to the blushhe stalked out ofthe officewith the paper in his pocket.

"Thatchap will be in gaol in two years" Mr. Higgs saidto Mr.Poe.

"Won'tO. come roundsirdon't you think?"

"Won'tthe monument come round" Mr. Higgs replied.

"He'sgoing it pretty fast" said the clerk.  "He's onlymarried aweekand I saw him and some other militarychapshanding Mrs. Highflyer to her carriage after theplay."And then another case was calledand Mr. GeorgeOsbornethenceforth dismissed from these worthygentlemen'smemory.

The draftwas upon our friends Hulker and Bullock ofLombardStreetto whose housestill thinking he wasdoingbusinessGeorge bent his wayand from whom hereceivedhis money.  Frederick BullockEsq.whoseyellowface was over a ledgerat which sate a demure clerkhappenedto be in the banking-room when George entered.His yellowface turned to a more deadly colourwhen hesaw the Captainand he slunk back guiltily intothe inmostparlour.  George was too busy gloating overthe money(for he had never had such a sum before)tomark thecountenance or flight of the cadaverous suitorof hissister.

FredBullock told old Osborne of his son's appearanceandconduct.  "He came in as bold as brass" saidFrederick. "He has drawn out every shilling.  How longwill a fewhundred pounds last such a chap as that?"Osborneswore with a great oath that he little cared when orhow soonhe spent it.  Fred dined every day in RussellSquarenow.  But altogetherGeorge was highly pleasedwith hisday's business.  All his own baggage and outfitwas putinto a state of speedy preparationand he paidAmelia'spurchases with cheques on his agentsand withthesplendour of a lord.

CHAPTERXXVIIInWhich Amelia Joins Her Regiment

When Jos'sfine carriage drove up to the inn door atChathamthe first face which Amelia recognized was thefriendlycountenance of Captain Dobbinwho had beenpacing thestreet for an hour past in expectation of hisfriends'arrival.  The Captainwith shells on his frockcoatand acrimson sash and sabrepresented a militaryappearancewhich made Jos quite proud to be able toclaim suchan acquaintanceand the stout civilian hailedhim with acordiality very different from the receptionwhich Josvouchsafed to his friend in Brighton and BondStreet.

Along withthe Captain was Ensign Stubble; whoasthebarouche neared the innburst out with an exclamationof "ByJove! what a pretty girl"; highly applaudingOsborne'schoice.  IndeedAmelia dressed in her wedding-pelisseand pink ribbonswith a flush in her faceoccasionedby rapid travel through the open airlooked sofresh andprettyas fully to justify the Ensign's compliment.Dobbinliked him for making it.  As he stepped forwardto helpthe lady out of the carriageStubble sawwhat apretty little hand she gave himand what a sweetprettylittle foot came tripping down the step.  He blushedprofuselyand made the very best bow of which he wascapable;to which Ameliaseeing the number of the theregimentembroidered on the Ensign's capreplied with ablushingsmileand a curtsey on her part; which finishedthe youngEnsign on the spot.  Dobbin took most kindly toMr.Stubble from that dayand encouraged him to talkaboutAmelia in their private walksand at each other'squarters. It became the fashionindeedamong all thehonestyoung fellows of the --th to adore and admireMrs.Osborne.  Her simple artless behaviourandmodestkindness of demeanourwon all their unsophisticatedhearts;all which simplicity and sweetness are quiteimpossibleto describe in print.  But who has not beheldtheseamong womenand recognised the presence of allsorts ofqualities in themeven though they say no moreto youthan that they are engaged to dance the nextquadrilleor that it is very hot weather?  Georgealways thechampionof his regimentrose immensely in the opinionof theyouth of the corpsby his gallantry in marrying thisportionlessyoung creatureand by his choice of such aprettykind partner.

In thesitting-room which was awaiting the travellersAmeliatoher surprisefound a letter addressed to Mrs.CaptainOsborne.  It was a triangular billeton pink paperand sealedwith a dove and an olive branchand aprofusionof light blue sealing waxand it was written ina verylargethough undecided female hand.

"It'sPeggy O'Dowd's fist" said Georgelaughing.  "Iknow it bythe kisses on the seal." And in factit was anote fromMrs. Major O'Dowdrequesting the pleasureof Mrs.Osborne's company that very evening to a smallfriendlyparty.  "You must go" George said.  "Youwillmakeacquaintance with the regiment there.  O'Dowd goesin commandof the regimentand Peggy goes in command

But theyhad not been for many minutes in the enjoymentof Mrs.O'Dowd's letterwhen the door was flungopenanda stout jolly ladyin a riding-habitfollowed bya coupleof officers of Oursentered the room.

"SureI couldn't stop till tay-time.  Present meGargemy dearfellowto your lady.  MadamI'm deloighted tosee ye;and to present to you me husbandMeejorO'Dowd";and with thisthe jolly lady in the riding-habitgraspedAmelia's hand very warmlyand the latter knewat oncethat the lady was before her whom her husbandhad sooften laughed at.  "You've often heard of me fromthathusband of yours" said the ladywith great vivacity.

"You'veoften heard of her" echoed her husbandtheMajor.

Ameliaansweredsmiling"that she had."

"Andsmall good he's told you of me" Mrs. O'Dowdreplied;adding that "George was a wicked divvle."

"ThatI'll go bail for" said the Majortrying to lookknowingat which George laughed; and Mrs. O'Dowdwith a tapof her whiptold the Major to be quiet; andthenrequested to be presented in form to Mrs. CaptainOsborne.

"Thismy dear" said George with great gravity"is myvery goodkindand excellent friendAuralia Margarettaotherwisecalled Peggy."

"Faithyou're right" interposed the Major.

"Otherwisecalled Peggylady of Major MichaelO'Dowdofour regimentand daughter of FitzjurldBer'sfordde Burgo Malony of GlenmalonyCounty Kildare."

"AndMuryan SqueerDoblin" said the lady with calmsuperiority.

"AndMuryan Squaresure enough" the Majorwhispered.

"'Twasthere ye coorted meMeejor dear" the ladysaid; andthe Major assented to this as to every otherpropositionwhich was made generally in company.

MajorO'Dowdwho had served his sovereign in everyquarter ofthe worldand had paid for every step in hisprofessionby some more than equivalent act of daringandgallantrywas the most modestsilentsheep-facedand meekof little menand as obedient to his wife as ifhe hadbeen her tay-boy.  At the mess-table he sat silentlyand dranka great deal.  When full of liquorhereeledsilently home.  When he spokeit was to agree witheverybodyon every conceivable point; and he passedthroughlife in perfect ease and good-humour.  Thehottestsuns of India never heated his temper; and theWalcherenague never shook it.  He walked up to a batterywith justas much indifference as to a dinner-table; haddined onhorse-flesh and turtle with equal relish andappetite;and had an old motherMrs. O'Dowd ofO'Dowdstownindeedwhom he had never disobeyedbut whenhe ran away and enlistedand when he persistedinmarrying that odious Peggy Malony.

Peggy wasone of five sistersand eleven children of thenoblehouse of Glenmalony; but her husbandthough herowncousinwas of the mother's sideand so had not theinestimableadvantage of being allied to the Malonyswhom shebelieved to be the most famous family in theworld. Having tried nine seasons at Dublin and two atBath andCheltenhamand not finding a partner for lifeMissMalony ordered her cousin Mick to marry her whenshe wasabout thirty-three years of age; and the honestfellowobeyingcarried her off to the West Indiestopresideover the ladies of the --th regimentinto which hehad justexchanged.

BeforeMrs. O'Dowd was half an hour in Amelia's (orindeed inanybody else's) companythis amiable lady toldall herbirth and pedigree to her new friend.  "My dear"said shegood-naturedly"it was my intention that Gargeshould bea brother of my ownand my sister Glorvinawould havesuited him entirely.  But as bygones arebygonesand he was engaged to yourselfwhyI'mdeterminedto take you as a sister insteadand to look uponyou assuchand to love you as one of the family.  Faithyou've gotsuch a nice good-natured face and way widgyouthatI'm sure we'll agree; and that you'll be anadditionto our family anyway."

"'Deedand she will" said O'Dowdwith an approvingairandAmelia felt herself not a little amused andgratefulto be thus suddenly introduced to so large aparty ofrelations.

"We'reall good fellows here" the Major's lady continued."There'snot a regiment in the service where you'llfind amore united society nor a more agreeable mess-room. There's no quarrellingbickeringslandtheringnorsmall talkamongst us.  We all love each other."

"EspeciallyMrs. Magenis" said Georgelaughing.

"Mrs.Captain Magenis and me has made upthoughhertreatment of me would bring me gray hairs withsorrow tothe grave."

"Andyou with such a beautiful front of blackPeggymy dear"the Major cried.

"Houldyour tongueMickyou booby.  Them husbandsare alwaysin the wayMrs. Osbornemy dear; and asfor myMickI often tell him he should never open hismouth butto give the word of commandor to put meatand drinkinto it.  I'll tell you about the regimentandwarn youwhen we're alone.  Introduce me to your brothernow; surehe's a mighty fine manand reminds me of mecousinDan Malony (Malony of Ballymalonymy dearyou knowwho mar'ied Ophalia Scullyof Oystherstownown cousinto Lord Poldoody).  Mr. SedleysirI'mdeloightedto be made known te ye.  I suppose you'll dineat themess to-day.  (Mind that divvle of a doctherMickandwhatever ye dukeep yourself sober for me partythisevening.)"

"It'sthe 150th gives us a farewell dinnermy love"interposedthe Major"but we'll easy get a card for Mr.Sedley."

"RunSimple (Ensign Simpleof Oursmy dear Amelia.I forgotto introjuice him to ye).  Run in a hurrywithMrs. MajorO'Dowd's compliments to Colonel TavishandCaptain Osborne has brought his brothernlaw downand willbring him to the 150th mess at five o'clock sharp--when youand Imy dearwill take a snack hereif youlike." Before Mrs. O'Dowd's speech was concludedtheyoungEnsign was trotting downstairs on his commission.

"Obedienceis the soul of the army.  We will go to ourduty whileMrs. O'Dowd will stay and enlighten youEmmy"Captain Osborne said; and the two gentlementakingeach a wing of the Majorwalked out with thatofficergrinning at each other over his head.

Andnowhaving her new friend to herselfthe impetuousMrs:O'Dowd proceeded to pour out such aquantityof information as no poor little woman's memorycould evertax itself to bear.  She told Amelia a thousandparticularsrelative to the very numerous family of whichthe amazedyoung lady found herself a member.  "Mrs.Heavytopthe Colonel's wifedied in Jamaica of theyellowfaver and a broken heart comboinedfor the horrudoldColonelwith a head as bald as a cannon-ballwasmakingsheep's eyes at a half-caste girl there.  Mrs.Magenisthough without educationwas a good womanbut shehad the divvle's tongueand would cheat her ownmother atwhist.  Mrs. Captain Kirk must turn up herlobstereyes forsooth at the idea of an honest round game(whereinme fawtheras pious a man as ever went tochurchmeuncle Dane Malonyand our cousin theBishoptook a hand at looor whistevery night of theirlives). Nayther of 'em's goin' with the regiment this time"Mrs.O'Dowd added.  "Fanny Magenis stops with hermotherwho sells small coal and potatoesmost likelyinIslington-townhard by Londonthough she's alwaysbraggingof her father's shipsand pointing them out to usas they goup the river:  and Mrs. Kirk and her childrenwill stophere in Bethesda Placeto be nigh to her favouritepreacherDr. Ramshorn.  Mrs. Bunny's in an interestingsituation--faithand she always isthen--and hasgiven theLieutenant seven already.  And Ensign Posky'swifewhojoined two months before youmy dearhasquarl'dwith Tom Posky a score of timestill you canhear'm allover the bar'ck (they say they're come tobrokenpleetsand Tom never accounted for his black oi)and she'llgo back to her motherwho keeps a ladies'siminaryat Richmond--bad luck to her for running awayfrom it! Where did ye get your finishingmy dear?  I hadmoinandno expince sparedat Madame Flanahan'satIlyssusGroveBooterstownnear Dublinwid a Marchionessto teachus the true Parisian pronunciationand a retiredMejor-Generalof the French service to put usthroughthe exercise."

Of thisincongruous family our astonished Amelia foundherselfall of a sudden a member:  with Mrs. O'Dowd asan eldersister.  She was presented to her other femalerelationsat tea-timeon whomas she was quietgood-naturedand not too handsomeshe made rather anagreeableimpression until the arrival of the gentlemen fromthe messof the 150thwho all admired her sothat hersistersbeganof courseto find fault with her.

"Ihope Osborne has sown his wild oats" said Mrs.Magenis toMrs. Bunny.  "If a reformed rake makes agoodhusbandsure it's she will have the fine chance withGarge"Mrs. O'Dowd remarked to Poskywho had lostherposition as bride in the regimentand was quite angrywith theusurper.  And as for Mrs. Kirk:  that disciple ofDr.Ramshorn put one or two leading professionalquestionsto Ameliato see whether she was awakenedwhethershe was a professing Christian and so forthandfindingfrom the simplicity of Mrs. Osborne's replies thatshe wasyet in utter darknessput into her hands threelittlepenny books with picturesviz.the "HowlingWilderness"the "Washerwoman of Wandsworth Common"and the"British Soldier's best Bayonet" whichbent uponawakeningher before she sleptMrs. Kirk begged Ameliato readthat night ere she went to bed.

But allthe menlike good fellows as they wereralliedroundtheir comrade's pretty wifeand paid her theircourt withsoldierly gallantry.  She had a little triumphwhichflushed her spirits and made her eyes sparkle.George wasproud of her popularityand pleased with themanner(which was very gay and gracefulthough naiveand alittle timid) with which she received the gentlemen's attentionsandanswered their compliments.  Andhe in hisuniform--how much handsomer he was thanany man inthe room!  She felt that he was affectionatelywatchingherand glowed with pleasure at his kindness.  "Iwill makeall his friends welcome" she resolved in herheart. "I will love all as I love him.  I will always try andbe gay andgood-humoured and make his home happy."

Theregiment indeed adopted her with acclamation.TheCaptains approvedthe Lieutenants applaudedtheEnsignsadmired.  Old Cutlerthe Doctormade one ortwo jokeswhichbeing professionalneed not be repeated;andCacklethe Assistant M.D. of Edinburghcondescendedto examineher upon leeteratureand tried herwith histhree best French quotations.  Young Stubble wentabout fromman to man whispering"Joveisn't she aprettygal?" and never took his eyes off her except whenthe neguscame in.

As forCaptain Dobbinhe never so much as spoke toher duringthe whole evening.  But he and Captain Porterof thel50th took home Jos to the hotelwho was in averymaudlin stateand had told his tiger-hunt story withgreateffectboth at the mess-table and at the soireetoMrs.O'Dowd in her turban and bird of paradise.  Havingput theCollector into the hands of his servantDobbinloiteredaboutsmoking his cigar before the inn door.George hadmeanwhile very carefully shawled his wifeandbrought her away from Mrs. O'Dowd's after a generalhandshakingfrom the young officerswho accompaniedher to theflyand cheered that vehicle as it drove off.  SoAmeliagave Dobbin her little hand as she got out of thecarriageand rebuked him smilingly for not having takenany noticeof her all night.

TheCaptain continued that deleterious amusement ofsmokinglong after the inn and the street were gone tobed. He watched the lights vanish from George's sitting-roomwindowsand shine out in the bedroom close athand. It was almost morning when he returned to his ownquarters. He could hear the cheering from the ships inthe riverwhere the transports were already taking intheircargoes preparatory to dropping down the Thames.

CHAPTERXVIIIInWhich Amelia Invades the Low Countries

Theregiment with its officers was to be transported inshipsprovided by His Majesty's government for theoccasion: and in two days after the festive assembly at Mrs.O'Dowd'sapartmentsin the midst of cheering from allthe EastIndia ships in the riverand the military on shorethe bandplaying "God Save the King" the officers wavingtheirhatsand the crews hurrahing gallantlythe transportswent downthe river and proceeded under convoy toOstend. Meanwhile the gallant Jos had agreed to escorthis sisterand the Major's wifethe bulk of whose goodsandchattelsincluding the famous bird of paradise andturbanwere with the regimental baggage: so that ourtwoheroines drove pretty much unencumbered toRamsgatewhere there were plenty of packets plyinginone ofwhich they had a speedy passage to Ostend.

Thatperiod of Jos's life which now ensued was so fullofincidentthat it served him for conversation formany yearsafterand even the tiger-hunt story was putaside formore stirring narratives which he had to tellabout thegreat campaign of Waterloo.  As soon as hehad agreedto escort his sister abroadit was remarkedthat heceased shaving his upper lip.  At Chatham hefollowedthe parades and drills with great assiduity.  Helistenedwith the utmost attention to the conversation ofhisbrother officers (as he called them in after dayssometimes)and learned as many military names as he could.In thesestudies the excellent Mrs. O'Dowd was of greatassistanceto him; and on the day finally when theyembarkedon board the Lovely Rosewhich was to carrythem totheir destinationhe made his appearance in abraidedfrock-coat and duck trouserswith a foragingcapornamented with a smart gold band.  Having hiscarriagewith himand informing everybody on boardconfidentiallythat he was going to join the Duke ofWellington'sarmyfolks mistook him for a great personageacommissary-generalor a government courier at the veryleast.

Hesuffered hugely on the voyageduring which theladieswere likewise prostrate; but Amelia was brought tolife againas the packet made Ostendby the sight ofthetransports conveying her regimentwhich entered theharbouralmost at the same time with the Lovely Rose.Jos wentin a collapsed state to an innwhile CaptainDobbinescorted the ladiesand then busied himself infreeingJos's carriage and luggage from the ship and thecustom-housefor Mr. Jos was at present without aservantOsborne's man and his own pampered menialhavingconspired together at Chathamand refused point-blank tocross the water.  This revoltwhich came verysuddenlyand on the last dayso alarmed Mr. Sedleyjuniorthat he was on the point of giving up the expeditionbutCaptain Dobbin (who made himself immenselyofficiousin the businessJos said)rated him andlaughed athim soundly:  the mustachios were grown inadvanceand Jos finally was persuaded to embark.  Inplace ofthe well-bred and well-fed London domesticswho couldonly speak EnglishDobbin procured for Jos'sparty aswarthy little Belgian servant who could speaknolanguage at all; but whoby his bustling behaviourand byinvariably addressing Mr. Sedley as "My lord"speedilyacquired that gentleman's favour.  Times arealtered atOstend now; of the Britons who go thithervery fewlook like lordsor act like those members ofourhereditary aristocracy.  They seem for the most partshabby inattiredingy of linenlovers of billiards andbrandyand cigars and greasy ordinaries.

But it maybe said as a rulethat every Englishmanin theDuke of Wellington's army paid his way.  Theremembranceof such a fact surely becomes a nation ofshopkeepers. It was a blessing for a commerce-lovingcountry tobe overrun by such an army of customers:and tohave such creditable warriors to feed.  And thecountrywhich they came to protect is not military.  Fora longperiod of history they have let other people fightthere. When the present writer went to survey with eagleglance thefield of Waterloowe asked the conductor ofthediligencea portly warlike-looking veteranwhetherhe hadbeen at the battle.  "Pas si bete"--such ananswer andsentiment as no Frenchman would own to--was hisreply.  Buton the other handthe postilionwho droveus was a Viscounta son of some bankruptImperialGeneralwho accepted a pennyworth of beeron theroad.  The moral is surely a good one.

This flatflourishingeasy country never could havelookedmore rich and prosperous than in that openingsummer of1815when its green fields and quiet citieswereenlivened by multiplied red-coats: when its widechausseesswarmed with brilliant English equipages:when itsgreat canal-boatsgliding by rich pastures andpleasantquaint old villagesby old chateaux lyingamongstold treeswere all crowded with well-to-do Englishtravellers:when the soldier who drank at the villageinnnotonly drankbut paid his score; and DonaldtheHighlanderbilleted in the Flemish farm-houserocked thebaby's cradlewhile Jean and Jeannette wereoutgetting in the hay.  As our painters are bent on militarysubjectsjust nowI throw out this as a good subjectfor thepencilto illustrate the principle of an honestEnglishwar.  All looked as brilliant and harmless as aHyde Parkreview.  MeanwhileNapoleon screened behindhiscurtain of frontier-fortresseswas preparing fortheoutbreak which was to drive all these orderly peopleinto furyand blood; and lay so many of them low.

Everybodyhad such a perfect feeling of confidencein theleader (for the resolute faith which the Duke ofWellingtonhad inspired in the whole English nation wasas intenseas that more frantic enthusiasm with whichat onetime the French regarded Napoleon)the countryseemed inso perfect a state of orderly defenceand thehelp athand in case of need so near and overwhelmingthat alarmwas unknownand our travellersamongwhom twowere naturally of a very timid sortwerelike allthe other multiplied English touristsentirely atease. The famous regimentwith so many of whoseofficerswe have made acquaintancewas drafted in canalboats toBruges and Ghentthence to march to Brussels.Josaccompanied the ladies in the public boats; the whichall oldtravellers in Flanders must remember for theluxury andaccommodation they afforded.  So prodigiouslygood wasthe eating and drinking on board thesesluggishbut most comfortable vesselsthat there are legendsextant ofan English travellerwhocoming to Belgiumfor aweekand travelling in one of these boatswas sodelightedwith the fare there that he went backwardsandforwards from Ghent to Bruges perpetually until therailroadswere inventedwhen he drowned himself on thelast tripof the passage-boat.  Jos's death was not to beof thissortbut his comfort was exceedingand Mrs.O'Dowdinsisted that he only wanted her sister Glorvinato makehis happiness complete.  He sate on the roofof thecabin all day drinking Flemish beershouting forIsidorhis servantand talking gallantly to the ladies.

Hiscourage was prodigious.  "Boney attack us!" hecried. "My dear creaturemy poor Emmydon't befrightened. There's no danger.  The allies will be in Parisin twomonthsI tell you; when I'll take you to dinein thePalais Royalby Jove!  There are three hundredthousandRooshiansI tell younow entering France byMayenceand the Rhine--three hundred thousand underWittgensteinand Barclay de Tollymy poor love.  Youdon't knowmilitary affairsmy dear.  I doand I tellyouthere's no infantry in France can stand againstRooshianinfantryand no general of Boney's that's fitto hold acandle to Wittgenstein.  Then there are theAustriansthey are five hundred thousand if a manandthey arewithin ten marches of the frontier by this timeunderSchwartzenberg and Prince Charles.  Then there aretheProoshians under the gallant Prince Marshal.  Showme acavalry chief like him now that Murat is gone.HeyMrs.O'Dowd?  Do you think our little girl hereneed beafraid?  Is there any cause for fearIsidor?  Heysir? Get some more beer."

Mrs.O'Dowd said that her "Glorvina was not afraidof any manalivelet alone a Frenchman" and tossedoff aglass of beer with a wink which expressed herliking forthe beverage.

Havingfrequently been in presence of the enemyorin otherwordsfaced the ladies at Cheltenham and Bathourfriendthe Collectorhad lost a great deal of hispristinetimidityand was nowespecially when fortifiedwithliquoras talkative as might be.  He was rather afavouritewith the regimenttreating the young officerswithsumptuosityand amusing them by his military airs.And asthere is one well-known regiment of the armywhichtravels with a goat heading the columnwhilstanother isled by a deerGeorge said with respect to hisbrother-in-lawthat his regiment marched with anelephant.

SinceAmelia's introduction to the regimentGeorgebegan tobe rather ashamed of some of the company towhich hehad been forced to present her; and determinedas he toldDobbin (with what satisfaction to the latterit neednot be said)to exchange into some better regimentsoonandto get his wife away from those damnedvulgarwomen.  But this vulgarity of being ashamed ofone'ssociety is much more common among men thanwomen(except very great ladies of fashionwhoto besureindulge in it); and Mrs. Ameliaa natural andunaffectedpersonhad none of that artificial shamefacednesswhich herhusband mistook for delicacy on his ownpart. Thus Mrs. O'Dowd had a cock's plume in her hatand a verylarge "repayther" on her stomachwhich sheused toring on all occasionsnarrating how it had beenpresentedto her by her fawtheras she stipt into thecar'geafter her mar'ge; and these ornamentswith otheroutwardpeculiarities of the Major's wifegave excruciatingagonies toCaptain Osbornewhen his wife and theMajor'scame in contact; whereas Amelia was onlyamused bythe honest lady's eccentricitiesand not inthe leastashamed of her company.

As theymade that well-known journeywhich almosteveryEnglishman of middle rank has travelled sincetheremight have been more instructivebut few moreentertainingcompanions than Mrs. Major O'Dowd.  "Talkaboutkenal boats; my dear!  Ye should see the kenalboatsbetween Dublin and Ballinasloe.  It's there the rapidtravellingis; and the beautiful cattle.  Sure me fawthergot agoold medal (and his Excellency himself eat a sliceof itandsaid never was finer mate in his loif) for afour-year-oldheiferthe like of which ye never saw inthiscountry any day." And Jos owned with a sigh"thatfor goodstreaky beefreally mingled with fat and leanthere wasno country like England."

"ExceptIrelandwhere all your best mate comes from"said theMajor's lady; proceedingas is not unusual withpatriotsof her nationto make comparisons greatly infavour ofher own country.  The idea of comparing themarket atBruges with those of Dublinalthough she hadsuggestedit herselfcaused immense scorn and derisionon herpart.  "I'll thank ye tell me what they mean bythat oldgazabo on the top of the market-place" saidshein aburst of ridicule fit to have brought the oldtowerdown.  The place was full of English soldiery astheypassed.  English bugles woke them in the morning;atnightfall they went to bed to the note of the Britishfife anddrum:  all the country and Europe was in armsand thegreatest event of history pending:  and honestPeggyO'Dowdwhom it concerned as well as anotherwent onprattling about Ballinafadand the horses in thestables atGlenmalonyand the clar't drunk there; andJos Sedleyinterposed about curry and rice at Dumdum;and Ameliathought about her husbandand how bestshe shouldshow her love for him; as if these werethe greattopics of the world.

Those wholike to lay down the History-bookand tospeculateupon what MIGHT have happened in the worldbut forthe fatal occurrence of what actually did takeplace (amost puzzlingamusingingeniousand profitablekind ofmeditation)have no doubt often thought tothemselveswhat a specially bad time Napoleon took tocome backfrom Elbaand to let loose his eagle fromGulf SanJuan to Notre Dame.  The historians on ourside tellus that the armies of the allied powers wereallprovidentially on a war-footingand ready to beardown at amoment's notice upon the Elban Emperor.The augustjobbers assembled at Viennaand carvingout thekingdoms of Europe according to their wisdomhad suchcauses of quarrel among themselves as mighthave setthe armies which had overcome Napoleon tofightagainst each otherbut for the return of the objectofunanimous hatred and fear.  This monarch had an armyin fullforce because he had jobbed to himself Polandand wasdetermined to keep it:  another had robbed halfSaxonyand was bent upon maintaining his acquisition:Italy wasthe object of a third's solicitude.  Each wasprotestingagainst the rapacity of the other; and could theCorsicanbut have waited in prison until all these partieswere bythe earshe might have returned and reignedunmolested. But what would have become of our storyand allour friendsthen?  If all the drops in it were driedupwhatwould become of the sea?

In themeanwhile the business of life and livingandthepursuits of pleasureespeciallywent on as if no endwere to beexpected to themand no enemy in front.When ourtravellers arrived at Brusselsin which theirregimentwas quartereda great piece of good fortuneas allsaidthey found themselves in one of the gayestand mostbrilliant little capitals in Europeand whereall theVanity Fair booths were laid out with the mosttemptingliveliness and splendour.  Gambling was here inprofusionand dancing in plenty:  feasting was there tofill withdelight that great gourmand of a Jos:  therewas atheatre where a miraculous Catalani was delightingallhearers:  beautiful ridesall enlivened with martialsplendour;a rare old citywith strange costumes andwonderfularchitectureto delight the eyes of little Ameliawho hadnever before seen a foreign countryand fillher withcharming surprises: so that now and for a fewweeks'space in a fine handsome lodgingwhereof theexpenseswere borne by Jos and Osbornewho was flushof moneyand full of kind attentions to his wife--forabout afortnightI sayduring which her honeymoonendedMrs. Amelia was as pleased and happy as anylittlebride out of England.

Every dayduring this happy time there was noveltyandamusement for all parties.  There was a church toseeor apicture-gallery--there was a rideor an opera.The bandsof the regiments were making music at allhours. The greatest folks of England walked in the Park--therewas a perpetual military festival.  Georgetakingout hiswife to a new jaunt or junket every nightwasquitepleased with himself as usualand swore he wasbecomingquite a domestic character.  And a jaunt ora junketwith HIM!  Was it not enough to set this littleheartbeating with joy?  Her letters home to her motherwerefilled with delight and gratitude at this season.  Herhusbandbade her buy lacesmillineryjewelsandgimcracksof all sorts.  Ohhe was the kindestbestandmostgenerous of men!

The sightof the very great company of lords and ladiesandfashionable persons who thronged the townandappearedin every public placefilled George's truly Britishsoul withintense delight.  They flung off that happyfrigidityand insolence of demeanour which occasionallycharacterisesthe great at homeand appearing innumberlesspublic placescondescended to mingle with therest ofthe company whom they met there.  One nightat a partygiven by the general of the division to whichGeorge'sregiment belongedhe had the honour of dancingwith LadyBlanche ThistlewoodLord Bareacres'daughter;he bustled for ices and refreshments for thetwo nobleladies; he pushed and squeezed for LadyBareacres'carriage; he bragged about the Countess whenhe gothomein a way which his own father could nothavesurpassed.  He called upon the ladies the next day;he rode bytheir side in the Park; he asked their partyto a greatdinner at a restaurateur'sand was quitewild withexultation when they agreed to come.  OldBareacreswho had not much pride and a large appetitewould gofor a dinner anywhere.

"I.hopethere will be no women besides our ownparty"Lady Bareacres saidafter reflecting upon theinvitationwhich had been madeand accepted with toomuchprecipitancy.

"GraciousHeavenMamma--you don't suppose theman wouldbring his wife" shrieked Lady Blanchewhohad beenlanguishing in George's arms in the newlyimportedwaltz for hours the night before.  "The men arebearablebut their women--"

"Wifejust marrieddev'lish pretty womanI hear"the oldEarl said.

"Wellmy dear Blanche" said the mother"I supposeas Papawants to gowe must go; but we needn't knowthem inEnglandyou know." And sodetermined to cuttheir newacquaintance in Bond Streetthese great folkswent toeat his dinner at Brusselsand condescending tomake himpay for their pleasureshowed their dignityby makinghis wife uncomfortableand carefully excludingher fromthe conversation.  This is a species of dignityin whichthe high-bred British female reigns supreme.  Towatch thebehaviour of a fine lady to other and humblerwomenisa very good sport for a philosophical frequenterof VanityFair.

Thisfestivalon which honest George spent a greatdeal ofmoneywas the very dismallest of all theentertainmentswhich Amelia had in her honeymoon.  Shewrote themost piteous accounts of the feast home tohermamma:  how the Countess of Bareacres would notanswerwhen spoken to; how Lady Blanche stared at herwith hereye-glass; and what a rage Captain Dobbin wasin attheir behaviour; and how my lordas they cameaway fromthe feastasked to see the billand pronouncedit a d--bad dinnerand d-- dear.  But though Ameliatold allthese storiesand wrote home regardingherguests' rudenessand her own discomfitureold Mrs.Sedley was mightily pleased neverthelessand talkedabout Emmy's friendthe Countess ofBareacreswith such assiduity that the news how his sonwasentertaining peers and peeresses actually came toOsborne'sears in the City.

Those whoknow the present Lieutenant-General SirGeorgeTuftoK.C.B.and have seen himas they mayon mostdays in the seasonpadded and in staysstruttingdown PallMall with a rickety swagger on his high-heeledlacqueredbootsleering under the bonnets of passers-byorriding a showy chestnutand ogling broughams intheParks--those who know the present Sir George Tuftowouldhardly recognise the daring Peninsular and Waterlooofficer. He has thick curling brown hair and blackeyebrowsnowand his whiskers are of the deepestpurple. He was light-haired and bald in 1815and stouterin theperson and in the limbswhich especially haveshrunkvery much of late.  When he was about seventyyears ofage (he is now nearly eighty)his hairwhichwas veryscarce and quite whitesuddenly grew thickand brownand curlyand his whiskers and eyebrowstook theirpresent colour.  Ill-natured people say thathis chestis all wooland that his hairbecause it nevergrowsisa wig.  Tom Tuftowith whose father he quarrelledever somany years agodeclares that Mademoisellede Jaiseyof the French theatrepulled hisgrandpapa'shair off in the green-room; but Tom isnotoriouslyspiteful and jealous; and the General's wig hasnothing todo with our story.

One dayas some of our friends of the --th weresaunteringin the flower-market of Brusselshaving beento see theHotel de Villewhich Mrs. Major O'Dowddeclaredwas not near so large or handsome as herfawther'smansion of Glenmalonyan officer of rankwithan orderlybehind himrode up to the marketanddescendingfrom his horsecame amongst the flowersandselectedthe very finest bouquet which money could buy.Thebeautiful bundle being tied up in a paperthe officerremountedgiving the nosegay into the charge of hismilitarygroomwho carried it with a grinfollowing hischiefwhorode away in great state and self-satisfaction.

"Youshould see the flowers at Glenmalony" Mrs.O'Dowd wasremarking.  "Me fawther has three Scotchgarnerswith nine helpers.  We have an acre of hot-housesand pinesas common as pays in the sayson.  Our greepsweighs sixpounds every bunch of 'emand upon mehonour andconscience I think our magnolias is as bigastaykettles."

Dobbinwho never used to "draw out" Mrs. O'Dowdas thatwicked Osborne delighted in doing (much toAmelia'sterrorwho implored him to spare her)fellback inthe crowdcrowing and sputtering until hereached asafe distancewhen he exploded amongst theastonishedmarket-people with shrieks of yelling laughter.

"Hwhat'sthat gawky guggling about?" said Mrs.O'Dowd. "Is it his nose bleedn?  He always used to say'twas hisnose bleedntill he must have pomped all theblood outof 'um.  An't the magnolias at Glenmalonyas big astaykettlesO'Dowd?"

"'Deedthen they areand biggerPeggy" the Majorsaid. When the conversation was interrupted in themannerstated by the arrival of the officer who purchasedthebouquet.

"Devlishfine horse--who is it?" George asked.

"Youshould see me brother Molloy Malony's horseMolassesthat won the cop at the Curragh" the Major'swife wasexclaimingand was continuing the familyhistorywhen her husband interrupted her by saying--

"It'sGeneral Tuftowho commands the ---- cavalrydivision";adding quietly"he and I were both shot inthe sameleg at Talavera."

"Whereyou got your step" said George with a laugh."GeneralTufto! Thenmy dearthe Crawleys are come."

Amelia'sheart fell--she knew not why.  The sun didnot seemto shine so bright.  The tall old roofs andgableslooked less picturesque all of a suddenthoughit was abrilliant sunsetand one of the brightest andmostbeautiful days at the end of May.

CHAPTERXXIXBrussels

Mr. Joshad hired a pair of horses for his open carriagewith whichcattleand the smart London vehiclehe madea verytolerable figure in the drives about Brussels.Georgepurchased a horse for his private ridingandhe andCaptain Dobbin would often accompany thecarriagein which Jos and his sister took daily excursionsofpleasure.  They went out that day in the park for theiraccustomeddiversionand theresure enoughGeorge'sremarkwith regard to the arrival of Rawdon Crawley andhis wifeproved to be correct.  In the midst of a littletroop ofhorsemenconsisting of some of the very greatestpersons inBrusselsRebecca was seen in the prettiestandtightest of riding-habitsmounted on a beautifullittleArabwhich she rode to perfection (having acquiredthe art atQueen's Crawleywhere the BaronetMr.PittandRawdon himself had given her many lessons)and by theside of the gallant General Tufto.

"Sureit's the Juke himself" cried Mrs. Major O'Dowdto Joswho began to blush violently; "and that's LordUxbridgeon the bay.  How elegant he looks!  Me brotherMolloyMalonyis as like him as two pays."

Rebeccadid not make for the carriage; but as soonas sheperceived her old acquaintance Amelia seated initacknowledged her presence by a gracious nod andsmileandby kissing and shaking her fingers playfullyin thedirection of the vehicle.  Then she resumed herconversationwith General Tuftowho asked "who thefatofficer was in the gold-laced cap?" on which Beckyreplied"that he was an officer in the East Indian service."But RawdonCrawley rode out of the ranks of hiscompanyand came up and shook hands heartily withAmeliaand said to Jos"Wellold boyhow are you?"and staredin Mrs. O'Dowd's face and at.the black cock'sfeathersuntil she began to think she had made aconquestof him.

Georgewho had been delayed behindrode up almostimmediatelywith Dobbinand they touched their caps tothe augustpersonagesamong whom Osborne at onceperceivedMrs. Crawley.  He was delighted to see Rawdonleaningover his carriage familiarly and talking to Ameliaand metthe aide-de-camp's cordial greeting with morethancorresponding warmth.  The nods between Rawdonand Dobbinwere of the very faintest specimens ofpoliteness.

Crawleytold George where they were stopping withGeneralTufto at the Hotel du Parcand George madehis friendpromise to come speedily to Osborne's ownresidence. "Sorry I hadn't seen you three days ago"Georgesaid.  "Had a dinner at the Restaurateur's--rather anicething.  Lord Bareacresand the Countessand LadyBlanchewere good enough to dine with us--wish we'dhad you."Having thus let his friend know his claims to bea man offashionOsborne parted from Rawdonwhofollowedthe august squadron down an alley into whichtheycanteredwhile George and Dobbin resumed theirplacesone on each side of Amelia's carriage.

"Howwell the Juke looked" Mrs. O'Dowd remarked."TheWellesleys and Malonys are related; butof coursepoor Iwould never dream of introjuicing myself unlesshis Gracethought proper to remember our family-tie."

"He'sa great soldier" Jos saidmuch more at easenow thegreat man was gone.  "Was there ever a battlewon likeSalamanca?  HeyDobbin?  But where was it helearnt hisart?  In Indiamy boy!  The jungle's the schoolfor ageneralmark me that.  I knew him myselftooMrs.O'Dowd:  we both of us danced the same eveningwith MissCutlerdaughter of Cutler of the Artilleryanda devilishfine girlat Dumdum."

Theapparition of the great personages held themall intalk during the drive; and at dinner; and until thehour camewhen they were all to go to the Opera.

It wasalmost like Old England.  The house was filledwithfamiliar British facesand those toilettes for whichtheBritish female has long been celebrated.  Mrs.O'Dowd'swas not the least splendid amongst theseandshe had acurl on her foreheadand a set of Irish diamondsandCairngormswhich outshone all the decorationsin thehousein her notion.  Her presence used toexcruciateOsborne; but go she would upon all parties ofpleasureon which she heard her young friends were bent.It neverentered into her thought but that they must becharmedwith her company.

"She'sbeen useful to youmy dear" George said tohis wifewhom he could leave alone with less scruplewhen shehad this society.  "But what a comfort it is thatRebecca'scome:  you will have her for a friendand wemay getrid now of this damn'd Irishwoman."  To thisAmelia didnot answeryes or no:  and how do we knowwhat herthoughts were?

The coupd'oeil of the Brussels opera-house did notstrikeMrs. O'Dowd as being so fine as the theatre inFishambleStreetDublinnor was French music at allequalinher opinionto the melodies of her native country.Shefavoured her friends with these and other opinionsin a veryloud tone of voiceand tossed about agreatclattering fan she sportedwith the most splendidcomplacency.

"Whois that wonderful woman with AmeliaRawdonlove?"said a lady in an opposite box (whoalmost alwayscivil toher husband in privatewas more fond thanever ofhim in company).

"Don'tyou see that creature with a yellow thing inherturbanand a red satin gownand a great watch?"

"Nearthe pretty little woman in white?" asked amiddle-agedgentleman seated by the querist's sidewithorders inhis buttonand several under-waistcoatsanda greatchokywhite stock.

"Thatpretty woman in white is AmeliaGeneral:  youareremarking all the pretty womenyou naughty man."

"Onlyonebegadin the world!" said the Generaldelightedand thelady gave him a tap with a large bouquetwhich shehad.

"Bedadit's him" said Mrs. O'Dowd; "and that's thevery bokayhe bought in the Marshy aux Flures!" andwhenRebeccahaving caught her friend's eyeperformedthe littlehand-kissing operation once moreMrs. MajorO'D.taking the compliment to herselfreturned the salutewith agracious smilewhich sent that unfortunateDobbinshrieking out of the box again.

At the endof the actGeorge was out of the box in amomentand he was even going to pay his respects toRebecca inher loge.  He met Crawley in the lobbyhoweverwhere theyexchanged a few sentences upon theoccurrencesof the last fortnight.

"Youfound my cheque all right at the agent's?Georgesaidwith a knowing air.

"Allrightmy boy" Rawdon answered.  "Happy to giveyou yourrevenge.  Governor come round?"

"Notyet" said George"but he will; and you know I'vesomeprivate fortune through my mother.  Has Auntyrelented?"

"Sentme twenty pounddamned old screw.  When shallwe have ameet?  The General dines out on Tuesday.Can't youcome Tuesday?  I saymake Sedley cut off hismoustache. What the devil does a civilian mean with amoustacheand those infernal frogs to his coat!  By-bye.Try andcome on Tuesday"; and Rawdon was going-offwith twobrilliant young gentlemen of fashionwho werelikehimselfon the staff of a general officer.

George wasonly half pleased to be asked to dinner onthatparticular day when the General was not to dine.  "Iwill go inand pay my respects to your wife" said he; atwhichRawdon said"Hmas you please" looking veryglumandat which the two young officers exchangedknowingglances.  George parted from them and strutteddown thelobby to the General's boxthe number of whichhe hadcarefully counted.

"Entrez"said a clear little voiceand our friend foundhimself inRebecca's presence; who jumped upclappedher handstogetherand held out both of them to Georgeso charmedwas she to see him.  The Generalwith theorders inhis buttonstared at the newcomer with a sulkyscowlasmuch as to saywho the devil are you?

"Mydear Captain George!" cried little Rebecca in anecstasy. "How good of you to come.  The General and Iweremoping together tete-a-tete.  Generalthis is myCaptainGeorge of whom you heard me talk."

"Indeed"said the Generalwith a very small bow; "ofwhatregiment is Captain George?"

Georgementioned the --th:  how he wished he couldhave saidit was a crack cavalry corps.

"Comehome lately from the West IndiesI believe.Not seenmuch service in the late war.  Quartered hereCaptainGeorge?"--the General went on with killinghaughtiness.

"NotCaptain Georgeyou stupid man; Captain Osborne"Rebeccasaid.  The General all the while was lookingsavagelyfrom one to the other.

"CaptainOsborneindeed! Any relation to the L--Osbornes?"

"Webear the same arms" George saidas indeed wasthe fact;Mr. Osborne having consulted with a herald inLong Acreand picked the L-- arms out of the peeragewhen heset up his carriage fifteen years before.  TheGeneralmade no reply to this announcement; but tookup hisopera-glass--the double-barrelled lorgnon was notinventedin those days--and pretended to examine thehouse; butRebecca saw that his disengaged eye wasworkinground in her directionand shooting outbloodshotglances at her and George.

Sheredoubled in cordiality.  "How is dearest Amelia?But Ineedn't ask: how pretty she looks!  And who is thatnicegood-natured looking creature with her--a flame ofyours? Oyou wicked men!  And there is Mr. SedleyeatingiceI declare: how he seems to enjoy it!  Generalwhyhave wenot had any ices?"

"ShallI go and fetch you some?" said the Generalburstingwith wrath.

"LetME goI entreat you" George said.

"NoI will go to Amelia's box.  Dearsweet girl!  Giveme yourarmCaptain George"; and so sayingand with anod to theGeneralshe tripped into the lobby.  She gaveGeorge thequeerestknowingest lookwhen they weretogethera look which might have been interpreted"Don'tyou see the state of affairsand what a fool I'mmaking ofhim?"  But he did not perceive it.  He wasthinkingof his own plansand lost in pompous admirationof his ownirresistible powers of pleasing.

The cursesto which the General gave a low utteranceas soon asRebecca and her conqueror had quitted himwere sodeepthat I am sure no compositor wouldventure toprint them were they written down.  They camefrom theGeneral's heart; and a wonderful thing it is tothink thatthe human heart is capable of generating suchproduceand can throw outas occasion demandssucha supplyof lust and furyrage and hatred.

Amelia'sgentle eyestoohad been fixed anxiously onthe pairwhose conduct had so chafed the jealous General;but whenRebecca entered her boxshe flew to herfriendwith an affectionate rapture which showed itselfinspite ofthe publicity of the place; for she embraced herdearestfriend in the presence of the whole houseat leastin fullview of the General's glassnow brought to bearupon theOsborne party.  Mrs. Rawdon saluted Jostoowith thekindliest greeting: she admired Mrs. O'Dowd'slargeCairngorm brooch and superb Irish diamondsandwouldn'tbelieve that they were not from Golconda direct.Shebustledshe chatteredshe turned and twistedand smiledupon oneand smirked on anotherall in fullview ofthe jealous opera-glass opposite.  And when thetime forthe ballet came (in which there was no dancerthat wentthrough her grimaces or performed her comedyof actionbetter)she skipped back to her own boxleaningon CaptainDobbin's arm this time.  Noshe wouldnot haveGeorge's: he must stay and talk to his dearestbestlittle Amelia.

"Whata humbug that woman is!" honest old Dobbinmumbled toGeorgewhen he came back from Rebecca'sboxwhither he had conducted her in perfect silenceandwith acountenance as glum as an undertaker's.  "Shewrithesand twists about like a snake.  All the time shewas heredidn't you seeGeorgehow she was acting attheGeneral over the way?"

"Humbug--acting! Hang itshe's the nicest littlewoman inEngland" George repliedshowing his whiteteethandgiving his ambrosial whiskers a twirl.  "Youain't aman of the worldDobbin.  Dammylook at hernowshe'stalked over Tufto in no time.  Look how he'slaughing! Gadwhat a shoulder she has!  Emmywhydidn't youhave a bouquet?  Everybody has a bouquet."

"Faiththenwhy didn't you BOY one?" Mrs. O'Dowdsaid; andboth Amelia and William Dobbin thanked herfor thistimely observation.  But beyond this neither ofthe ladiesrallied.  Amelia was overpowered by the flashand thedazzle and the fashionable talk of her worldly rival.Even theO'Dowd was silent and subdued after Becky'sbrilliantapparitionand scarcely said a word more aboutGlenmalonyall the evening.

"Whendo you intend to give up playGeorgeas youhavepromised meany time these hundred years?" Dobbinsaid tohis friend a few days after the night at theOpera. "When do you intend to give up sermonising?"was theother's reply.  "What the deucemanare youalarmedabout?  We play low; I won last night.  Youdon'tsuppose Crawley cheats?  With fair play it comesto prettymuch the same thing at the year's end."

"ButI don't think he could pay if he lost" Dobbinsaid; andhis advice met with the success which adviceusuallycommands.  Osborne and Crawley were repeatedlytogethernow.  General Tufto dined abroad almost constantly.George wasalways welcome in the apartments(veryclose indeed to those of the General) which theaide-de-campand his wife occupied in the hotel.

Amelia'smanners were such when she and George visitedCrawleyand his wife at these quartersthat they hadverynearly come to their first quarrel; that isGeorgescoldedhis wife violently for her evident unwillingness togoandthe high and mighty manner in which she comportedherselftowards Mrs. Crawleyher old friend; andAmelia didnot say one single word in reply; but with herhusband'seye upon herand Rebecca scanning her as shefeltwasif possiblemore bashful and awkward on thesecondvisit which she paid to Mrs. Rawdonthan on herfirstcall.

Rebeccawas doubly affectionateof courseand wouldnot takenoticein the leastof her friend's coolness.  "Ithink Emmyhas become prouder since her father's namewas inthe--since Mr. Sedley's MISFORTUNES" Rebeccasaidsoftening the phrase charitably for George's ear.

"Uponmy wordI thought when we were at Brightonshe wasdoing me the honour to be jealous of me; andnow Isuppose she is scandalised because Rawdonand Iand theGeneral live together.  Whymy dear creaturehow couldwewith our meanslive at allbut for a friendto shareexpenses?  And do you suppose that Rawdon isnot bigenough to take care of my honour?  But I'm verymuchobliged to Emmyvery" Mrs. Rawdon said.

"Poohjealousy!" answered George"all women arejealous."

"Andall men too.  Weren't you jealous of GeneralTuftoandthe General of youon the night of the Opera?Whyhewas ready to eat me for going with you to visitthatfoolish little wife of yours; as if I care a pin foreither ofyou" Crawley's wife saidwith a pert toss ofher head. "Will you dine here?  The dragon dines with theCommander-in-Chief. Great news is stirring.  They saythe Frenchhave crossed the frontier.  We shall have aquietdinner."

Georgeaccepted the invitationalthough his wife was alittleailing.  They were now not quite six weeks married.Anotherwoman was laughing or sneering at her expenseand he notangry.  He was not even angry with himselfthisgood-natured fellow.  It is a shamehe owned to himself;but hangitif a pretty woman WILL throw herself inyour waywhywhat can a fellow doyou know?  I AMratherfree about womenhe had often saidsmiling andnoddingknowingly to Stubble and Spooneyand othercomradesof the mess-table; and they rather respectedhim thanotherwise for this prowess.  Next to conqueringin warconquering in love has been a source of pridetime outof mindamongst men in Vanity Fairor howshouldschoolboys brag of their amoursor Don Juan bepopular?

So Mr.Osbornehaving a firm conviction in his ownmind thathe was a woman-killer and destined to conquerdid notrun counter to his fatebut yielded himselfup to itquite complacently.  And as Emmy did not saymuch orplague him with her jealousybut merely becameunhappyand pined over it miserably in secrethe choseto fancythat she was not suspicious of what all hisacquaintancewere perfectly aware--namelythat he wascarryingon a desperate flirtation with Mrs. Crawley.  Herode withher whenever she was free.  He pretendedregimentalbusiness to Amelia (by which falsehood she wasnot in theleast deceived)and consigning his wife tosolitudeor her brother's societypassed his evenings intheCrawleys' company; losing money to the husband andflatteringhimself that the wife was dying of love for him.It is verylikely that this worthy couple never absolutelyconspiredand agreed together in so many words:  the oneto cajolethe young gentlemanwhilst the other won hismoney atcards: but they understood each other perfectlywellandRawdon let Osborne come and go with entiregoodhumour.

George wasso occupied with his new acquaintancesthat heand William Dobbin were by no means so muchtogetheras formerly.  George avoided him in public andin theregimentandas we seedid not like thosesermonswhich his senior was disposed to inflict upon him.If someparts of his conduct made Captain Dobbinexceedinglygrave and cool; of what use was it to tell Georgethatthough his whiskers were largeand his ownopinion ofhis knowingness greathe was as green as aschoolboy?that Rawdon was making a victim of him as he haddone ofmany beforeand as soon as he had used himwouldfling him off with scorn?  He would not listen:  andsoasDobbinupon those days when he visited the0sbornehouseseldom had the advantage of meeting hisoldfriendmuch painful and unavailing talk betweenthem wasspared.  Our friend George was in the full careerof thepleasures of Vanity Fair.

Therenever wassince the days of Dariussuch a brillianttrain ofcamp-followers as hung round the Duke ofWellington'sarmy in the Low Countriesin 1815; andled itdancing and feastingas it wereup to the verybrink ofbattle.  A certain ball which a noble Duchessgave atBrussels on the 15th of June in the above-namedyear ishistorical.  All Brussels had been in a state ofexcitementabout itand I have heard from ladies whowere inthat town at the periodthat the talk and interestof personsof their own sex regarding the ball was muchgreatereven than in respect of the enemy in their front.Thestrugglesintriguesand prayers to get tickets weresuch asonly English ladies will employin order to gainadmissionto the society of the great of their own nation.

Jos andMrs. O'Dowdwho were panting to be askedstrove invain to procure tickets; but others of our friendswere morelucky.  For instancethrough the interest ofmy LordBareacresand as a set-off for the dinner at therestaurateur'sGeorge got a card for Captain and Mrs.Osborne;which circumstance greatly elated him.  Dobbinwho was afriend of the General commanding the divisionin whichtheir regiment wascame laughing oneday toMrs. Osborneand displayed a similar invitationwhich madeJos enviousand George wonder how thedeuce heshould be getting into society.  Mr. and Mrs.Rawdonfinallywere of course invited; as became thefriends ofa General commanding a cavalry brigade.

On theappointed nightGeorgehaving commandednewdresses and ornaments of all sorts for Ameliadroveto thefamous ballwhere his wife did not know a singlesoul. After looking about for Lady Bareacreswho cuthimthinking the card was quite enough--and afterplacingAmelia on a benchhe left her to her owncogitationstherethinkingon his own partthat he hadbehavedvery handsomely in getting her new clothesandbringingher to the ballwhere she was free to amuseherself asshe liked.  Her thoughts were not of thepleasantestand nobody except honest Dobbin came todisturbthem.

Whilst herappearance was an utter failure (as herhusbandfelt with a sort of rage)Mrs. Rawdon Crawley'sdebut wason the contraryvery brilliant.  She arrivedverylate.  Her face was radiant; her dress perfection.  Inthe midstof the great persons assembledand the eye-glassesdirected to herRebecca seemed to be as coolandcollected as when she used to marshal Miss Pinkerton'slittlegirls to church.  Numbers of the men she knewalreadyand the dandies thronged round her.  As for theladiesitwas whispered among them that Rawdon hadrun awaywith her from out of a conventand that shewas arelation of the Montmorency family.  She spokeFrench soperfectly that there might be some truth inthisreportand it was agreed that her manners werefineandher air distingue.  Fifty would-be partnersthrongedround her at onceand pressed to have thehonour todance with her.  But she said she was engagedand onlygoing to dance very little; and made her way atonce tothe place where Emmy sate quite unnoticedanddismallyunhappy.  And soto finish the poor child atonceMrs.Rawdon ran and greeted affectionately herdearestAmeliaand began forthwith to patronise her.She foundfault with her friend's dressand herhairdresserand wondered how she could be so chausseeand vowedthat she must send her corsetiere the nextmorning. She vowed that it was a delightful ball; thatthere waseverybody that every one knewand only aVERY fewnobodies in the whole room.  It is a factthatin afortnightand after three dinners in general societythis youngwoman had got up the genteel jargon so wellthat anative could not speak it better; and it was onlyfrom herFrench being so goodthat you could know shewas not aborn woman of fashion.

Georgewho had left Emmy on her bench on enteringtheball-roomvery soon found his way back whenRebeccawas by her dear friend's side.  Becky was justlecturingMrs. Osborne upon the follies which herhusbandwas committing.  "For God's sakestop him fromgamblingmy dear" she said"or he will ruin himself.He andRawdon are playing at cards every nightand youknow he isvery poorand Rawdon will win every shillingfrom himif he does not take care.  Why don't you preventhimyoulittle careless creature?  Why don't youcome to usof an eveninginstead of moping at homewith thatCaptain Dobbin?  I dare say he is tres aimable;but howcould one love a man with feet of such size?Yourhusband's feet are darlings--Here he comes.  Wherehave youbeenwretch?  Here is Emmy crying her eyesout foryou.  Are you coming to fetch me for the quadrille?"And sheleft her bouquet and shawl by Amelia'ssideandtripped off with George to dance.  Women onlyknow howto wound so.  There is a poison on the tips oftheirlittle shaftswhich stings a thousand times morethan aman's blunter weapon.  Our poor Emmywho hadneverhatednever sneered all her lifewas powerless inthe handsof her remorseless little enemy.

Georgedanced with Rebecca twice or thrice--how manytimesAmelia scarcely knew.  She sat quite unnoticed inhercornerexcept when Rawdon came up with somewords ofclumsy conversation:  and later in the eveningwhenCaptain Dobbin made so bold as to bring herrefreshmentsand sit beside her.  He did not like to ask herwhy shewas so sad; but as a pretext for the tears whichwerefilling in her eyesshe told him that Mrs. Crawleyhadalarmed her by telling her that George would go onplaying.

"Itis curiouswhen a man is bent upon playby whatclumsyrogues he will allow himself to be cheated"Dobbinsaid; and Emmy said"Indeed." She was thinking ofsomethingelse.  It was not the loss of the money thatgrievedher.

At lastGeorge came back for Rebecca's shawl andflowers. She was going away.  She did not evencondescendto come back and say good-bye to Amelia.  Thepoor girllet her husband come and go without saying awordandher head fell on her breast.  Dobbin had beencalledawayand was whispering deep in conversationwith theGeneral of the divisionhis friendand had notseen thislast parting.  George went away then with thebouquet;but when he gave it to the ownerthere lay anotecoiled like a snake among the flowers.  Rebecca'seye caughtit at once.  She had been used to deal withnotes inearly life.  She put out her hand and took thenosegay. He saw by her eyes as they metthat she wasaware whatshe should find there.  Her husband hurried herawaystill too intent upon his own thoughtsseeminglyto takenote of any marks of recognition which mightpassbetween his friend and his wife.  These werehoweverbut trifling.  Rebecca gave George her hand with oneof herusual quick knowing glancesand made a curtseyand walkedaway.  George bowed over the handsaidnothing inreply to a remark of Crawley'sdid not hear itevenhisbrain was so throbbing with triumph andexcitementand allowed them to go away without a word.

His wifesaw the one part at least of the bouquet-scene.It wasquite natural that George should come at Rebecca'srequest toget her her scarf and flowers:  it was nomore thanhe had done twenty times before in the courseof thelast few days; but now it was too much for her."William"she saidsuddenly clinging to Dobbinwho wasnear her"you've always been very kind to me--I'm--I'm notwell.  Take me home."  She did not know she calledhim by hisChristian nameas George was accustomed todo. He went away with her quickly.  Her lodgings werehard by;and they threaded through the crowd withoutwhereeverything seemed to be more astir than even in theball-roomwithin.

George hadbeen angry twice or thrice at finding hiswife up onhis return from the parties which hefrequented: so she went straight to bed now; but althoughshe didnot sleepand although the din and clatterandthegalloping of horsemen were incessantshe never heardany ofthese noiseshaving quite other disturbances tokeep herawake.

Osbornemeanwhilewild with elationwent off to aplay-tableand began to bet frantically.  He won repeatedly."Everythingsucceeds with me to-night" he said.But hisluck at play even did not cure him of his restlessnessand hestarted up after awhilepocketing his winningsand wentto a buffetwhere he drank off manybumpers ofwine.

Hereashe was rattling away to the people aroundlaughingloudly and wild with spiritsDobbin found him.He hadbeen to the card-tables to look there for hisfriend. Dobbin looked as pale and grave as his comradewasflushed and jovial.

''HulloDob!  Come and drinkold Dob!  The Duke'swine isfamous.  Give me some moreyou sir"; and heheld out atrembling glass for the liquor.

"ComeoutGeorge" said Dobbinstill gravely; "don'tdrink."

"Drink! there's nothing like it.  Drink yourselfandlight upyour lantern jawsold boy.  Here's to you."

Dobbinwent up and whispered something to himatwhichGeorgegiving a start and a wild hurraytossed offhis glassclapped it on the tableand walked awayspeedilyon his friend's arm.  "The enemy has passed theSambre"William said"and our left is already engaged.Comeaway.  We are to march in three hours."

Away wentGeorgehis nerves quivering with excitementat thenews so long looked forso sudden when itcame. What were love and intrigue now?  He thoughtabout athousand things but these in his rapid walk to hisquarters--hispast life and future chances--the fate whichmight bebefore him--the wifethe child perhapsfromwhomunseen he might be about to part.  Ohhow hewishedthat night's work undone!  and that with a clearconscienceat least he might say farewell to the tenderandguileless being by whose love he had set such littlestore!

He thoughtover his brief married life.  In those fewweeks hehad frightfully dissipated his little capital.  Howwild andreckless he had been!  Should any mischancebefallhim:  what was then left for her?  How unworthy hewas ofher.  Why had he married her?  He was not fit formarriage. Why had he disobeyed his fatherwho had beenalways sogenerous to him?  Hoperemorseambitiontendernessand selfish regret filled his heart.  He satedown andwrote to his fatherremembering what he hadsaid oncebeforewhen he was engaged to fight a duel.Dawnfaintly streaked the sky as he closed this farewellletter. He sealed itand kissed the superscription.  Hethoughthow he had deserted that generous fatherand ofthethousand kindnesses which the stern old man haddone him.

He hadlooked into Amelia's bedroom when he entered;she layquietand her eyes seemed closedand hewas gladthat she was asleep.  On arriving at his quartersfrom theballhe had found his regimental servant alreadymakingpreparations for his departure:  the manhadunderstood his signal to be stilland these arrangementswere veryquickly and silently made.  Should he goin andwake Ameliahe thoughtor leave a note for herbrother tobreak the news of departure to her?  He wentin to lookat her once again.

She hadbeen awake when he first entered her roombut hadkept her eyes closedso that even her wakefulnessshould notseem to reproach him.  But when he hadreturnedso soon after herselftoothis timid little hearthad feltmore at easeand turning towards him as hesteptsoftly out of the roomshe had fallen into a lightsleep. George came in and looked at her againenteringstill moresoftly.  By the pale night-lamp he could see hersweetpale face--the purple eyelids were fringed andclosedand one round armsmooth and whitelay outsideof thecoverlet.  Good God!  how pure she was; howgentlehow tenderand how friendless!  and hehowselfishbrutaland black with crime!  Heart-stainedandshame-strickenhe stood at the bed's footand looked atthesleeping girl.  How dared he--who was heto pray forone sospotless!  God bless her!  God bless her!  He came tothebedsideand looked at the handthe little soft handlyingasleep; and he bent over the pillow noiselesslytowardsthe gentle pale face.

Two fairarms closed tenderly round his neck as hestoopeddown.  "I am awakeGeorge" the poor child saidwith a sobfit to break the little heart that nestled soclosely byhis own.  She was awakepoor souland towhat? At that moment a bugle from the Place of Armsbegansounding clearlyand was taken up through thetown; andamidst the drums of the infantryand theshrillpipes of the Scotchthe whole city awoke.

CHAPTERXXX"TheGirl I Left Behind Me"

We do notclaim to rank among the military novelists.Our placeis with the non-combatants.  When the decksarecleared for action we go below and wait meekly.  Weshouldonly be in the way of the manoeuvres that thegallantfellows are performing overhead.  We shall go nofartherwith the --th than to the city gate:  and leavingMajorO'Dowd to his dutycome back to the Major'swifeandthe ladies and the baggage.

Now theMajor and his ladywho had not been invitedto theball at which in our last chapter other of ourfriendsfiguredhad much more time to take theirwholesomenatural rest in bedthan was accorded to peoplewho wishedto enjoy pleasure as well as to do duty.  "It'smy beliefPeggymy dear" said heas he placidly pulledhisnightcap over his ears"that there will be such a balldanced ina day or two as some of 'em has never heardthe chuneof"; and he was much more happy to retire torest afterpartaking of a quiet tumblerthan to figure atany othersort of amusement.  Peggyfor her partwouldhave likedto have shown her turban and bird ofparadiseat the ballbut for the information which herhusbandhad given herand which made her very grave.

"I'dlike ye wake me about half an hour before the assemblybeats"the Major said to his lady.  "Call me at half-past onePeggy dearand see me things is ready.  May beI'll notcome back to breakfastMrs. O'D."  With whichwordswhich signified his opinion that the regiment wouldmarch thenext morningthe Major ceased talkingandfellasleep.

Mrs.O'Dowdthe good housewifearrayed in curlpapers anda camisolefelt that her duty was to actandnot tosleepat this juncture.  "Time enough for that" shesaid"when Mick's gone"; and so she packed his travellingvaliseready for the marchbrushed his cloakhis capandotherwarlike habilimentsset them out in order for him;and stowedaway in the cloak pockets a light package ofportablerefreshmentsand a wicker-covered flask orpocket-pistolcontaining near a pint of a remarkablysoundCognac brandyof which she and the Major approvedvery much;and as soon as the hands of the"repayther"pointed to half-past oneand its interiorarrangements(it had a tone quite equal to a cathaydralitsfair ownerconsidered) knelled forth that fatal hourMrs.O'Dowdwoke up her Majorand had as comfortable acup ofcoffee prepared for him as any made that morninginBrussels.  And who is there will deny that this worthylady'spreparations betokened affection as much as thefits oftears and hysterics by which more sensitive femalesexhibitedtheir loveand that their partaking of this coffeewhich theydrank together while the bugles were soundingtheturn-out and the drums beating in the various quartersof thetownwas not more useful and to the purpose thantheoutpouring of any mere sentiment could be?  Theconsequencewasthat the Major appeared on parade quitetrimfreshand alerthis well-shaved rosy countenanceas he sateon horsebackgiving cheerfulness and confidenceto thewhole corps.  All the officers saluted herwhen theregiment marched by the balcony on which thisbravewoman stoodand waved them a cheer as theypassed;and I daresay it was not from want of couragebut from asense of female delicacy and proprietythatsherefrained from leading the gallant --th personallyintoaction.

OnSundaysand at periods of a solemn natureMrs.O'Dowdused to read with great gravity out of a largevolume ofher uncle the Dean's sermons.  It had been ofgreatcomfort to her on board the transport as they werecominghomeand were very nearly wreckedon theirreturnfrom the West Indies.  After the regiment'sdepartureshe betook herself to this volume for meditation;perhapsshe did not understand much of what she wasreadingand her thoughts were elsewhere:  but the sleepprojectwith poor Mick's nightcap there on the pillowwas quitea vain one.  So it is in the world.  Jack or Donaldmarchesaway to glory with his knapsack on his shouldersteppingout briskly to the tune of "The Girl I Left BehindMe."It is she who remains and suffers--and has theleisure tothinkand broodand remember.

Knowinghow useless regrets areand how the indulgenceofsentiment only serves to make people more miserableMrs.Rebecca wisely determined to give way to novainfeelings of sorrowand bore the parting from herhusbandwith quite a Spartan equanimity.  Indeed CaptainRawdonhimself was much more affected at the leave-takingthan the resolute little woman to whom he badefarewell. She had mastered this rude coarse nature;and heloved and worshipped her with all his faculties ofregard andadmiration.  In all his life he had never been sohappyasduring the past few monthshis wife had madehim. All former delights of turfmesshunting-fieldandgambling-table;all previous loves and courtships ofmillinersopera-dancersand the like easy triumphs of theclumsymilitary Adoniswere quite insipid whencomparedto the lawful matrimonial pleasures which of late hehadenjoyed.  She had known perpetually how to diverthim; andhe had found his house and her society athousandtimes more pleasant than any place or companywhich hehad ever frequented from his childhood untilnow. And he cursed his past follies and extravagancesandbemoaned his vast outlying debts above allwhichmustremain for ever as obstacles to prevent his wife'sadvancementin the world.  He had often groaned overthese inmidnight conversations with Rebeccaalthough asa bachelorthey had never given him any disquiet.  Hehimselfwas struck with this phenomenon.  "Hang it"he wouldsay (or perhaps use a still stronger expressionout of hissimple vocabulary)"before I was married Ididn'tcare what bills I put my name toand so long asMoseswould wait or Levy would renew for three monthsI kept onnever minding.  But since I'm marriedexceptrenewingof courseI give you my honour I've nottouched abit of stamped paper."

Rebeccaalways knew how to conjure away thesemoods ofmelancholy.  "Whymy stupid love" she wouldsay"wehave not done with your aunt yet.  If she fails usisn'tthere what you call the Gazette?  orstopwhen youruncleBute's life dropsI have another scheme.  The livinghas alwaysbelonged to the younger brotherand whyshouldn'tyou sell out and go into the Church?"  The ideaof thisconversion set Rawdon into roars of laughter:you mighthave heard the explosion through the hotel atmidnightand the haw-haws of the great dragoon's voice.GeneralTufto heard him from his quarters on the firstfloorabove them; and Rebecca acted the scene with greatspiritand preached Rawdon's first sermonto theimmensedelight of the General at breakfast.

But thesewere mere by-gone days and talk.  When thefinal newsarrived that the campaign was openedand thetroopswere to marchRawdon's gravity became suchthat Beckyrallied him about it in a manner which ratherhurt thefeelings of the Guardsman.  "You don't supposeI'mafraidBeckyI should think" he saidwith a tremorin hisvoice.  "But I'm a pretty good mark for a shotandyou see ifit brings me downwhy I leave one andperhapstwo behind me whom I should wish to provide foras Ibrought 'em into the scrape.  It is no laughing matterthatMrs.C.anyways."

Rebecca bya hundred caresses and kind words triedto soothethe feelings of the wounded lover.  It was onlywhen hervivacity and sense of humour got the better ofthissprightly creature (as they would do under mostcircumstancesof life indeed) that she would break outwith hersatirebut she could soon put on a demure face."Dearestlove" she said"do you suppose I feel nothing?"andhastily dashing something from her eyesshelooked upin her husband's face with a smile.

"Lookhere" said he.  "If I droplet us see what thereis foryou.  I have had a pretty good run of luck hereandhere's twohundred and thirty pounds.  I have got tenNapoleonsin my pocket.  That is as much as I shall want;for theGeneral pays everything like a prince; and if I'mhitwhyyou know I cost nothing.  Don't crylittle woman;I may liveto vex you yet.  WellI shan't take either of myhorsesbut shall ride the General's grey charger:  it'scheaperand I told him mine was lame.  If I'm donethosetwo oughtto fetch you something.  Grigg offered ninetyfor themare yesterdaybefore this confounded newscameandlike a fool I wouldn't let her go under the twoo's. Bullfinch will fetch his price any dayonly you'dbettersell him in this countrybecause the dealers have somany billsof mineand so I'd rather he shouldn't goback toEngland.  Your little mare the General gave youwill fetchsomethingand there's no d--d livery stablebills hereas there are in London" Rawdon addedwith alaugh. "There's that dressing-case cost me two hundred--that isI owe two for it; and the gold tops and bottlesmust beworth thirty or forty.  Please to put THAT up thespoutma'amwith my pinsand ringsand watch andchainandthings.  They cost a precious lot of money.  MissCrawleyIknowpaid a hundred down for the chain andticker. Gold tops and bottlesindeed!  dammyI'm sorryI didn'ttake more now.  Edwards pressed on me a silver-giltboot-jackand I might have had a dressing-case fittedup with asilver warming-panand a service of plate.  Butwe mustmake the best of what we've gotBeckyyouknow."

And somaking his last dispositionsCaptain Crawleywho hadseldom thought about anything but himselfuntilthe lastfew months of his lifewhen Love had obtainedthemastery over the dragoonwent through the variousitems ofhis little catalogue of effectsstriving to see howthey mightbe turned into money for his wife's benefitincase anyaccident should befall him.  He pleased himselfby notingdown with a pencilin his big schoolboyhandwritingthe various items of his portable property whichmight besold for his widow's advantage asfor example"Mydouble-barril by Mantonsay 40 guineas; my drivingcloaklined with sable fur50 pounds; my duelling pistols inrosewoodcase (same which I shot Captain Marker)20 pounds;my regulation saddle-holsters and housings; myLaurieditto" and so forthover all of which articles hemadeRebecca the mistress.

Faithfulto his plan of economythe Captain dressedhimself inhis oldest and shabbiest uniform and epauletsleavingthe newest behindunder his wife's (or it mightbe hiswidow's) guardianship.  And this famous dandy ofWindsorand Hyde Park went off on his campaign with akit asmodest as that of a sergeantand with somethinglike aprayer on his lips for the woman he was leaving.He tookher up from the groundand held her in hisarms for aminutetight pressed against his strong-beatingheart. His face was purple and his eyes dimas he put herdown andleft her.  He rode by his General's sideandsmoked hiscigar in silence as they hastened after thetroops ofthe General's brigadewhich preceded them;and it wasnot until they were some miles on their waythat heleft off twirling his moustache and broke silence.

AndRebeccaas we have saidwisely determined not togive wayto unavailing sentimentality on her husband'sdeparture. She waved him an adieu from the windowandstoodthere for a moment looking out after he was gone.Thecathedral towers and the full gables of the quaint oldhouseswere just beginning to blush in the sunrise.  Therehad beenno rest for her that night.  She was still in herprettyball-dressher fair hair hanging somewhat out ofcurl onher neckand the circles round her eyes dark withwatching. "What a fright I seem" she saidexaminingherself inthe glass"and how pale this pink makes onelook!" So she divested herself of this pink raiment; indoingwhich a note fell out from her corsagewhich shepicked upwith a smileand locked into her dressing-box.And thenshe put her bouquet of the ball into a glass ofwaterandwent to bedand slept very comfortably.

The townwas quite quiet when she woke up at teno'clockand partook of coffeevery requisite andcomfortingafter the exhaustion and grief of the morning'soccurrences.

This mealovershe resumed honest Rawdon's calculationsof thenight previousand surveyed her position.Should theworst befallall things consideredshe wasprettywell to do.  There were her own trinkets and trousseauinaddition to those which her husband had left behind.Rawdon'sgenerositywhen they were first marriedhasalready been described and lauded.  Besides theseand thelittle marethe Generalher slave and worshipperhad madeher many very handsome presentsin the shapeofcashmere shawls bought at the auction of a bankruptFrenchgeneral's ladyand numerous tributes from thejewellers'shopsall of which betokened her admirer'staste andwealth.  As for "tickers" as poor Rawdon calledwatchesher apartments were alive with their clicking.Forhappening to mention one night that herswhichRawdon hadgiven to herwas of English workmanshipand wentillon the very next morning there came to hera littlebijou marked Leroywith a chain and covercharminglyset with turquoisesand another signed Brequetwhich wascovered with pearlsand yet scarcely biggerthan ahalf-crown.  General Tufto had bought oneandCaptainOsborne had gallantly presented the other.  Mrs.Osbornehad no watchthoughto do George justiceshemight havehad one for the askingand the HonourableMrs. Tuftoin England had an old instrument of hermother'sthat might have served for the plate-warmingpan whichRawdon talked about.  If Messrs. Howell andJames wereto publish a list of the purchasers of all thetrinketswhich they sellhow surprised would somefamiliesbe: and if all these ornaments went to gentlemen'slawfulwives and daughterswhat a profusion of jewellerytherewould be exhibited in the genteelest homes ofVanityFair!

Everycalculation made of these valuables Mrs. Rebeccafoundnotwithout a pungent feeling of triumph and self-satisfactionthat should circumstances occurshe mightreckon onsix or seven hundred pounds at the very leastto beginthe world with; and she passed the morningdisposingorderinglooking outand locking up herpropertiesin the most agreeable manner.  Among the notesinRawdon's pocket-book was a draft for twenty poundsonOsborne's banker.  This made her think about Mrs.Osborne. "I will go and get the draft cashed" she said"andpay a visit afterwards to poor little Emmy." If thisis a novelwithout a heroat least let us lay claim to aheroine. No man in the British army which has marchedawaynotthe great Duke himselfcould be more cool orcollectedin the presence of doubts and difficultiesthantheindomitable little aide-de-camp's wife.

And therewas another of our acquaintances who wasalso to beleft behinda non-combatantand whose emotionsandbehaviour we have therefore a right to know.This wasour friend the ex-collector of Boggley Wollahwhose restwas brokenlike other people'sby the soundingof thebugles in the early morning.  Being a greatsleeperand fond of his bedit is possible he would havesnoozed onuntil his usual hour of rising in the forenoonin spiteof all the drumsbuglesand bagpipes in theBritisharmybut for an interruptionwhich did not comefromGeorge Osbornewho shared Jos's quarters withhimandwas as usual occupied too much with his ownaffairs orwith grief at parting with his wifeto think oftakingleave of his slumbering brother-in-law--it was notGeorgewesaywho interposed between Jos Sedley andsleepbutCaptain Dobbinwho came and roused him upinsistingon shaking hands with him before his departure.

"Verykind of you" said Josyawningand wishingtheCaptain at the deuce.

"I--Ididn't like to go off without saying good-byeyouknow"Dobbin said in a very incoherent manner; "becauseyou knowsome of us mayn't come back againandI like tosee you all welland--and that sort of thingyouknow."

"Whatdo you mean?" Jos askedrubbing his eyes.  TheCaptaindid not in the least hear him or look at the stoutgentlemanin the nightcapabout whom he professed tohave sucha tender interest.  The hypocrite was lookingandlistening with all his might in the direction of George'sapartmentsstriding about the roomupsetting the chairsbeatingthe tattoobiting his nailsand showing othersigns ofgreat inward emotion.

Jos hadalways had rather a mean opinion of theCaptainand now began to think his courage was somewhatequivocal. "What is it I can do for youDobbin?" he saidin asarcastic tone.

"Itell you what you can do" the Captain repliedcomingup to thebed; "we march in a quarter of an hourSedleyand neither George nor I may ever come back.Mind youyou are not to stir from this town until youascertainhow things go.  You are to stay here and watchover yoursisterand comfort herand see that no harmcomes toher.  If anything happens to Georgeremembershe has noone but you in the world to look to.  If it goeswrong withthe armyyou'll see her safe back to England;and youwill promise me on your word that you willneverdesert her.  I know you won't:  as far as money goesyou werealways free enough with that.  Do you want any?I meanhave you enough gold to take you back toEngland incase of a misfortune?"

"Sir"said Josmajestically"when I want moneyIknow whereto ask for it.  And as for my sisteryouneedn'ttell me how I ought to behave to her."

"Youspeak like a man of spiritJos" the other answeredgood-naturedly"and I am glad that George canleave herin such good hands.  So I may give him yourword ofhonourmay Ithat in case of extremity youwill standby her?"

"Ofcourseof course" answered Mr. Joswhosegenerosityin money matters Dobbin estimated quitecorrectly.

"Andyou'll see her safe out of Brussels in the event ofa defeat?"

"Adefeat! D-- itsirit's impossible.  Don't try andfrightenME" the hero cried from his bed; and Dobbin'smind wasthus perfectly set at ease now that Jos hadspoken outso resolutely respecting his conduct to hissister. "At least" thought the Captain"there will be aretreatsecured for her in case the worst should ensue."

If CaptainDobbin expected to get any personal comfortandsatisfaction from having one more view of Ameliabefore theregiment marched awayhis selfishness waspunishedjust as such odious egotism deserved to be.  Thedoor ofJos's bedroom opened into the sitting-room whichwas commonto the family partyand opposite this doorwas thatof Amelia's chamber.  The bugles had wakenedeverybody: there was no use in concealment now.  George'sservantwas packing in this room:  Osborne coming inand out ofthe contiguous bedroomflinging to the mansucharticles as he thought fit to carry on the campaign.Andpresently Dobbin had the opportunity which hisheartcovetedand he got sight of Amelia's face oncemore. But what a face it was!  So whiteso wild anddespair-strickenthat the remembrance of it haunted himafterwardslike a crimeand the sight smote him withinexpressiblepangs of longing and pity.

She waswrapped in a white morning dressher hairfalling onher shouldersand her large eyes fixed andwithoutlight.  By way of helping on the preparations forthedepartureand showing that she too could be usefulat amoment so criticalthis poor soul had taken up asash ofGeorge's from the drawers whereon it layandfollowedhim to and fro with the sash in her handlookingon mutelyas his packing proceeded.  She came out andstoodleaning at the wallholding this sash against herbosomfrom which the heavy net of crimson droppedlike alarge stain of blood.  Our gentle-hearted Captainfelt aguilty shock as he looked at her.  "Good God"thoughthe"and is it grief like this I dared to pry into?"And therewas no help:  no means to soothe and comfortthishelplessspeechless misery.  He stood for a momentand lookedat herpowerless and torn with pityas aparentregards an infant in pain.

At lastGeorge took Emmy's handand led her backinto thebedroomfrom whence he came out alone.  Thepartinghad taken place in that momentand he was gone.

"ThankHeaven that is over" George thoughtboundingdown thestairhis sword under his armas he ranswiftly tothe alarm groundwhere the regiment wasmusteredand whither trooped men and officers hurryingfrom theirbillets; his pulse was throbbing and his cheeksflushed: the great game of war was going to be playedand he oneof the players.  What a fierce excitement ofdoubthopeand pleasure!  What tremendous hazards ofloss orgain!  What were all the games of chance he hadeverplayed compared to this one?  Into all contestsrequiringathletic skill and couragethe young manfromhisboyhood upwardshad flung himself with all his might.Thechampion of his school and his regimentthe bravosof hiscompanions had followed him everywhere; fromthe boys'cricket-match to the garrison-raceshe had wona hundredof triumphs; and wherever he went womenand menhad admired and envied him.  What qualitiesare therefor which a man gets so speedy a return ofapplauseas those of bodily superiorityactivityandvalour? Time out of mind strength and courage have beenthe themeof bards and romances; and from the story ofTroy downto to-daypoetry has always chosen a soldierfor ahero.  I wonder is it because men are cowards inheart thatthey admire bravery so muchand placemilitaryvalour so far beyond every other quality forreward andworship?

Soat thesound of that stirring call to battleGeorgejumpedaway from the gentle arms in which he had beendallying;not without a feeling of shame (although hiswife'shold on him had been but feeble)that he shouldhave beendetained there so long.  The same feeling ofeagernessand excitement was amongst all those friendsof his ofwhom we have had occasional glimpsesfromthe stoutsenior Majorwho led the regiment into actionto littleStubblethe Ensignwho was to bear its colourson thatday.

The sunwas just rising as the march began--it wasa gallantsight--the band led the columnplaying theregimentalmarch--then came the Major in commandridingupon Pyramushis stout charger--then marchedthegrenadierstheir Captain at their head; in the centrewere thecoloursborne by the senior and junior Ensigns--thenGeorge came marching at the head of his company.He lookedupand smiled at Ameliaand passedon; andeven the sound of the music died away.

CHAPTERXXXIInWhich Jos Sedley Takes Care of His Sister

Thus allthe superior officers being summoned on dutyelsewhereJos Sedley was left in command of the littlecolony atBrusselswith Amelia invalidedIsidorhisBelgianservantand the bonnewho was maid-of-all-workfor theestablishmentas a garrison under him.  Thoughhe wasdisturbed in spiritand his rest destroyed byDobbin'sinterruption and the occurrences of the morningJosnevertheless remained for many hours in bedwakefuland rolling about there until his usual hour ofrising hadarrived.  The sun was high in the heavensandourgallant friends of the --th miles on their marchbefore thecivilian appeared in his flowered dressing-gownatbreakfast. AboutGeorge's absencehis brother-in-law was veryeasy inmind.  Perhaps Jos was rather pleased in his heartthatOsborne was gonefor during George's presencetheother hadplayed but a very secondary part in thehouseholdand Osborne did not scruple to show his contemptfor thestout civilian.  But Emmy had always been goodandattentive to him.  It was she who ministered to hiscomfortswho superintended the dishes that he likedwho walkedor rode with him (as she had manytoomanyopportunities of doingfor where was George?)and whointerposed her sweet face between his angerand herhusband's scorn.  Many timid remonstrances hadsheuttered to George in behalf of her brotherbut theformer inhis trenchant way cut these entreaties short."I'man honest man" he said"and if I have a feelingI show itas an honest man will.  How the deucemydearwould you have me behave respectfully to such afool asyour brother?"  So Jos was pleased with George'sabsence. His plain hatand gloves on a sideboardandthe ideathat the owner was awaycaused Jos I don'tknow whatsecret thrill of pleasure.  "HE won't betroublingme this morning" Jos thought"with hisdandifiedairs and his impudence." "Putthe Captain's hat into the ante-room" he saidto Isidorthe servant. "Perhapshe won't want it again" replied the lackeylookingknowingly at his master.  He hated George toowhoseinsolence towards him was quite of the Englishsort. "Andask if Madame is coming to breakfast" Mr.Sedleysaid with great majestyashamed to enter with aservantupon the subject of his dislike for George.  Thetruth ishe had abused his brother to the valet a scoreof timesbefore.

Alas! Madame could not come to breakfastand cutthetartines that Mr. Jos liked.  Madame was a great dealtoo illand had been in a frightful state ever since herhusband'sdepartureso her bonne said.  Jos showed hissympathyby pouring her out a large cup of tea It washis way ofexhibiting kindness:  and he improved on this;he notonly sent her breakfastbut he bethought himwhatdelicacies she would most like for dinner.

Isidorthe valethad looked on very sulkilywhileOsborne'sservant was disposing of his master's baggagepreviousto the Captain's departure:  for in the first placehe hatedMr. Osbornewhose conduct to himand toallinferiorswas generally overbearing (nor does thecontinentaldomestic like to be treated with insolence asour ownbetter-tempered servants do)and secondlyhewas angrythat so many valuables should be removedfrom underhis handsto fall into other people's possessionwhen theEnglish discomfiture should arrive.  Of thisdefeat heand a vast number of other persons in BrusselsandBelgium did not make the slightest doubt.  The almostuniversalbelief wasthat the Emperor would dividethePrussian and English armiesannihilate one after theotherandmarch into Brussels before three days wereover: when all the movables of his present masterswhowould bekilledor fugitivesor prisonerswould lawfullybecome theproperty of Monsieur Isidor.

As hehelped Jos through his toilsome and complicateddailytoilettethis faithful servant would calculate whathe shoulddo with the very articles with which he wasdecoratinghis master's person.  He would make a presentof thesilver essence-bottles and toilet knicknacks to ayoung ladyof whom he was fond; and keep the Englishcutleryand the large ruby pin for himself.  It wouldlook verysmart upon one of the fine frilled shirtswhichwith thegold-laced cap and the frogged frock coatthatmighteasily be cut down to suit his shapeand the Captain'sgold-headedcaneand the great double ring withtherubieswhich he would have made into a pair ofbeautifulearringshe calculated would make a perfectAdonis ofhimselfand render Mademoiselle Reine aneasyprey.  "How those sleeve-buttons will suit me!"thoughtheas he fixed a pair on the fat pudgy wrists ofMr.Sedley.  "I long for sleeve-buttons; and the Captain'sboots withbrass spursin the next roomcorbleu!  whatan effectthey will make in the Allee Verte!" So whileMonsieurIsidor with bodily fingers was holding on to hismaster'snoseand shaving the lower part of Jos's facehisimagination was rambling along the Green Avenuedressedout in a frogged coat and laceand in companywithMademoiselle Reine; he was loitering in spirit onthe banksand examining the barges sailing slowly underthe coolshadows of the trees by the canalor refreshinghimselfwith a mug of Faro at the bench of a beer-houseon theroad to Laeken.

But Mr.Joseph Sedleyluckily for his own peacenomore knewwhat was passing in his domestic's mind thantherespected readerand I suspect what John or Marywhosewages we paythink of ourselves.  What ourservantsthink of us!--Did we know what our intimates anddearrelations thought of uswe should live in a worldthat weshould be glad to quitand in a frame of mindand aconstant terrorthat would be perfectly unbearable.So Jos'sman was marking his victim downas yousee one ofMr. Paynter's assistants in Leadenhall Streetornamentan unconscious turtle with a placard on whichiswritten"Soup to-morrow."

Amelia'sattendant was much less selfishly disposed.Fewdependents could come near that kind and gentlecreaturewithout paying their usual tribute of loyaltyandaffection to her sweet and affectionate nature.  Andit is afact that Paulinethe cookconsoled her mistressmore thananybody whom she saw on this wretchedmorning;for when she found how Amelia remained for hourssilentmotionlessand haggardby the windows in whichshe hadplaced herself to watch the last bayonets of thecolumn asit marched awaythe honest girl took thelady'shandand saidTenezMadameest-ce qu'il n'estpas aussia l'armeemon homme a moi?  with whichshe burstinto tearsand Amelia falling into her armsdidlikewiseand so each pitied and soothed the other.

Severaltimes during the forenoon Mr. Jos's Isidorwent fromhis lodgings into the townand to the gatesof thehotels and lodging-houses round about the Parcwhere theEnglish were congregatedand there mingledwith othervaletscouriersand lackeysgathered suchnews aswas abroadand brought back bulletins for hismaster'sinformation.  Almost all these gentlemen were inheartpartisans of the Emperorand had their opinionsabout thespeedy end of the campaign.  The Emperor'sproclamationfrom Avesnes had been distributedeverywhereplentifully in Brussels.  "Soldiers!"  it said"thisis theanniversary of Marengo and Friedlandby which thedestiniesof Europe were twice decided.  Thenas afterAusterlitzas after Wagramwe were too generous.  Webelievedin the oaths and promises of princes whom wesufferedto remain upon their thrones.  Let us march oncemore tomeet them.  We and theyare we not still thesame men? Soldiers!  these same Prussians who are soarrogantto-daywere three to one against you at Jenaand six toone at Montmirail.  Those among you whowereprisoners in England can tell their comrades whatfrightfultorments they suffered on board the Englishhulks. Madmen!  a moment of prosperity has blindedthemandif they enter into France it will be to find agravethere!"  But the partisans of the French prophesieda morespeedy extermination of the Emperor's enemiesthan this;and it was agreed on all hands that PrussiansandBritish would never return except as prisoners in therear ofthe conquering army.

Theseopinions in the course of the day were broughtto operateupon Mr. Sedley.  He was told that the DukeofWellington had gone to try and rally his armytheadvance ofwhich had been utterly crushed the nightbefore.

"Crushedpsha!" said Joswhose heart was prettystout atbreakfast-time.  "The Duke has gone to beat theEmperor ashe has beaten all his generals before."

"Hispapers are burnedhis effects are removedand hisquartersare being got ready for the Duke of Dalmatia"Jos'sinformant replied.  "I had it from his own maitred'hotel. Milor Duc de Richemont's people are packingupeverything.  His Grace has fled alreadyand theDuchess isonly waiting to see the plate packed to join theKing ofFrance at Ostend."

"TheKing of France is at Ghentfellow" replied Josaffectingincredulity. "Hefled last night to Brugesand embarks today fromOstend. The Duc de Berri is taken prisoner.  Those whowish to besafe had better go soonfor the dykes willbe openedto-morrowand who can fly when the wholecountry isunder water?"

"Nonsensesirwe are three to onesiragainst anyforceBoney can bring into the field" Mr. Sedleyobjected;"the Austrians and the Russians are on theirmarch. He musthe shall be crushed" Jos saidslappinghis handon the table.

"ThePrussians were three to one at Jenaand hetook theirarmy and kingdom in a week.  They weresix to oneat Montmirailand he scattered them like sheep.TheAustrian army is comingbut with the Empress andthe Kingof Rome at its head; and the Russiansbah!theRussians will withdraw.  No quarter is to be givento theEnglishon account of their cruelty to our braveson boardthe infamous pontoons.  Look herehere it isin blackand white.  Here's the proclamation of hisMajestythe Emperor and King" said the now declaredpartisanof Napoleonand taking the document from hispocketIsidor sternly thrust it into his master's faceandalready looked upon the frogged coat and valuablesas his ownspoil.

Jos wasif not seriously alarmed as yetat leastconsiderablydisturbed in mind.  "Give me my coat and capsirsaidhe"and follow me.  I will go myself and learnthe truthof these reports." Isidor was furious as Jos puton thebraided frock.  "Milor had better.not wear thatmilitarycoat" said he; "the Frenchmen have sworn notto givequarter to a single British soldier."

"Silencesirrah!" said Joswith a resolute countenancestillandthrust his arm into the sleeve with indomitableresolutionin the performance of which heroic act hewas foundby Mrs. Rawdon Crawleywho at this juncturecame up tovisit Ameliaand entered without ringingat theantechamber door.

Rebeccawas dressed very neatly and smartlyas usual:her quietsleep after Rawdon's departure had refreshedherandher pink smiling cheeks were quite pleasant tolook atin a town and on a day when everybody else'scountenancewore the appearance of the deepest anxietyandgloom.  She laughed at the attitude in which Jos wasdiscoveredand the struggles and convulsions with whichthe stoutgentleman thrust himself into the braided coat.

"Areyou preparing to join the armyMr. Joseph?"she said. "Is there to be nobody left in Brussels toprotect uspoor women?"  Jos succeeded in plunging intothe coatand came forward blushing and stuttering outexcuses tohis fair visitor.  "How was she after the eventsof themorning--after the fatigues of the ball the nightbefore?" Monsieur Isidor disappeared into his master'sadjacentbedroombearing off the flowered dressing-gown.

"Howgood of you to ask" said shepressing one ofhis handsin both her own.  "How cool and collected youlook wheneverybody else is frightened!  How is our dearlittleEmmy?  It must have been an awfulawful parting."

"Tremendous"Jos said.

"Youmen can bear anything" replied the lady.  "Partingor dangerare nothing to you.  Own now that youwere goingto join the army and leave us to our fate.I know youwere--something tells me you were.  I wassofrightenedwhen the thought came into my head (forI dosometimes think of you when I am aloneMr.Joseph)that I ran off immediately to beg and entreatyou not tofly from us."

Thisspeech might be interpreted"My dear sirshouldanaccident befall the armyand a retreat be necessaryyou have avery comfortable carriagein which Ipropose totake a seat." I don't know whether Josunderstoodthe words in this sense.  But he was profoundlymortifiedby the lady's inattention to him during theirstay atBrussels.  He had never been presented to anyof RawdonCrawley's great acquaintances:  he had scarcelybeeninvited to Rebecca's parties; for he was too timidto playmuchand his presence bored George and Rawdonequallywho neither of themperhapsliked to have awitness ofthe amusements in which the pair chose toindulge. "Ah!" thought Jos"now she wants me shecomes tome.  When there is nobody else in the way shecan thinkabout old Joseph Sedley!"  But besides thesedoubts hefelt flattered at the idea Rebecca expressedof hiscourage.

He blusheda good dealand put on an air of importance."Ishould like to see the action" he said.  "Everyman of anyspirit wouldyou know.  I've seen a littleservice inIndiabut nothing on this grand scale."

"Youmen would sacrifice anything for a pleasure"Rebeccaanswered.  "Captain Crawley left me this morningas gay asif he were going to a hunting party.  Whatdoes hecare?  What do any of you care for the agoniesandtortures of a poor forsaken woman?  (I wonderwhether hecould really have been going to the troopsthis greatlazy gourmand?)  Oh!  dear Mr. SedleyI havecome toyou for comfort--for consolation.  I have beenon myknees all the morning.  I tremble at the frightfuldangerinto which our husbandsour friendsour bravetroops andalliesare rushing.  And I come here for shelterand findanother of my friends--the last remaining tome--bentupon plunging into the dreadful scene!"

"Mydear madam" Jos repliednow beginning to bequitesoothed"don't be alarmed.  I only said I shouldlike togo--what Briton would not?  But my duty keepsme here: I can't leave that poor creature in the nextroom."And he pointed with his finger to the door ofthechamber in which Amelia was.

"Goodnoble brother!" Rebecca saidputting herhandkerchiefto her eyesand smelling the eau-de-colognewith whichit was scented.  "I have done you injustice:you havegot a heart.  I thought you had not."

"Oupon my honour!" Jos saidmaking a motion asif hewould lay his hand upon the spot in question.  "Youdo meinjusticeindeed you do--my dear Mrs. Crawley."

"Idonow your heart is true to your sister.  But Iremembertwo years ago--when it was false to me!"Rebeccasaidfixing her eyes upon him for an instantandthenturning away into the window.

Josblushed violently.  That organ which he wasaccused byRebecca of not possessing began to thumptumultuously. He recalled the days when he had fled fromherandthe passion which had once inflamed him--thedays whenhe had driven her in his curricle:  when shehad knitthe green purse for him:  when he had sateenrapturedgazing at her white arms and bright eyes.

"Iknow you think me ungrateful" Rebecca continuedcoming outof the windowand once more looking athim andaddressing him in a low tremulous voice.  "Yourcoldnessyour averted looksyour manner when we havemet oflate--when I came in just nowall proved it tome. But were there no reasons why I should avoid you?Let yourown heart answer that question.  Do you thinkmy husbandwas too much inclined to welcome you?The onlyunkind words I have ever had from him (Iwill doCaptain Crawley that justice) have been aboutyou--andmost cruelcruel words they were."

"Goodgracious! what have I done?" asked Jos in aflurry ofpleasure and perplexity; "what have I done--to--to--?"

"Isjealousy nothing?" said Rebecca.  "He makes memiserableabout you.  And whatever it might have beenonce--myheart is all his.  I am innocent now.  Am InotMr.Sedley?"

All Jos'sblood tingled with delightas he surveyedthisvictim to his attractions.  A few adroit wordsoneor twoknowing tender glances of the eyesand his heartwasinflamed again and his doubts and suspicionsforgotten. From Solomon downwardshave not wiser menthan hebeen cajoled and befooled by women?  "If theworstcomes to the worst" Becky thought"my retreatis secure;and I have a right-hand seat in the barouche."

There isno knowing into what declarations of loveand ardourthe tumultuous passions of Mr. Josephmight haveled himif Isidor the valet had not madehisreappearance at this minuteand begun to busyhimselfabout the domestic affairs.  Joswho was just goingto gaspout an avowalchoked almost with the emotionthat hewas obliged to restrain.  Rebecca too bethoughther thatit was time she should go in and comfort herdearestAmelia.  "Au revoir" she saidkissing her handto Mr.Josephand tapped gently at the door of hissister'sapartment.  As she entered and closed the dooronherselfhe sank down in a chairand gazed andsighed andpuffed portentously.  "That coat is very tightforMilor" Isidor saidstill having his eye on the frogs;but hismaster heard him not:  his thoughts wereelsewhere: now glowingmaddeningupon the contemplationof theenchanting Rebecca:  anon shrinking guiltilybefore thevision of the jealous Rawdon Crawleywith hiscurlingfierce mustachiosand his terrible duelling pistolsloaded andcocked.

Rebecca'sappearance struck Amelia with terrorandmade hershrink back.  It recalled her to the world andtheremembrance of yesterday.  In the overpowering fearsaboutto-morrow she had forgotten Rebecca--jealousy--everythingexcept that her husband was gone and wasindanger.  Until this dauntless worldling came in andbroke thespelland lifted the latchwe too haveforborneto enter into that sad chamber.  How long had thatpoor girlbeen on her knees!  what hours of speechlessprayer andbitter prostration had she passed there!  Thewar-chroniclerswho write brilliant stories of fight andtriumphscarcely tell us of these.  These are too meanparts ofthe pageant:  and you don't hear widows' criesormothers' sobs in the midst of the shouts and jubilationin thegreat Chorus of Victory.  And yet when wasthe timethat such have not cried out:  heart-brokenhumbleprotestantsunheard in the uproar of the triumph!

After thefirst movement of terror in Amelia's mind--whenRebecca's green eyes lighted upon herandrustlingin her fresh silks and brilliant ornamentsthe lattertripped upwith extended arms to embrace her--a feelingof angersucceededand from being deadly pale beforeher faceflushed up redand she returned Rebecca's lookafter amoment with a steadiness which surprised andsomewhatabashed her rival.

"DearestAmeliayou are very unwell" the visitor saidputtingforth her hand to take Amelia's.  "What is it?I couldnot rest until I knew how you were."

Ameliadrew back her hand--never since her lifebegan hadthat gentle soul refused to believe or toanswer anydemonstration of good-will or affection.  Butshe drewback her handand trembled all over.  "Whyare youhereRebecca?" she saidstill looking at hersolemnlywith her large eyes.  These glances troubled hervisitor.

"Shemust have seen him give me the letter at theball"Rebecca thought.  "Don't be agitateddear Amelia"she saidlooking down.  "I came but to see if I could--if youwere well."

"Areyou well?" said Amelia.  "I dare say you are.You don'tlove your husband.  You would not be here ifyou did. Tell meRebeccadid I ever do you anythingbutkindness?"

"IndeedAmeliano" the other saidstill hangingdown herhead.

"Whenyou were quite poorwho was it that befriendedyou? Was I not a sister to you?  You saw usall inhappier days before he married me.  I was all inall thento him; or would he have given up his fortunehisfamilyas he nobly did to make me happy?  Why didyou comebetween my love and me?  Who sent you toseparatethose whom God joinedand take my darling'sheart fromme-- my own husband? Do you think youcould Ilove him as I did?  His love was everything to me.You knewitand wanted to rob me of it.  For shameRebecca;bad and wicked woman--false friend and falsewife."

"AmeliaI protest before GodI have done myhusband nowrong" Rebecca saidturning from her.

"Haveyou done me no wrongRebecca?  You did notsucceedbut you tried.  Ask your heart if you did not."

She knowsnothingRebecca thought.

"Hecame back to me.  I knew he would.  I knew thatnofalsehoodno flatterycould keep him from me long.I knew hewould come.  I prayed so that he should."

The poorgirl spoke these words with a spirit andvolubilitywhich Rebecca had never before seen in herand beforewhich the latter was quite dumb.  "But whathave Idone to you" she continued in a more pitiful tone"thatyou should try and take him from me?  I had himbut forsix weeks.  You might have spared me thoseRebecca. And yetfrom the very first day of our weddingyou cameand blighted it.  Now he is goneare you cometo see howunhappy I am?" she continued.  "You mademewretched enough for the past fortnight:  you mighthavespared me to-day."

"I--Inever came here" interposed Rebeccawithunluckytruth.

"No. You didn't come.  You took him away.  Are youcome tofetch him from me?" she continued in a wildertone. "He was herebut he is gone now.  There on thatvery sofahe sate.  Don't touch it.  We sate and talkedthere. I was on his kneeand my arms were round hisneckandwe said 'Our Father.' Yeshe was here:  andthey cameand took him awaybut he promised me tocomeback."

"Hewill come backmy dear" said Rebeccatouchedin spiteof herself.

"Look"said Amelia"this is his sash--isn't it a prettycolour?''and she took up the fringe and kissed it.  Shehad tiedit round her waist at some part of the day.  Shehadforgotten her angerher jealousythe very presenceof herrival seemingly.  For she walked silently and almostwith asmile on her facetowards the bedand began tosmoothdown George's pillow.

Rebeccawalkedtoosilently away.  "How is Amelia?"asked Joswho still held his position in the chair.

"Thereshould be somebody with her" said Rebecca."Ithink she is very unwell":  and she went away with avery gravefacerefusing Mr. Sedley's entreaties that shewould stayand partake of the early dinner which he hadordered.

Rebeccawas of a good-natured and obliging disposition;and sheliked Amelia rather than otherwise.  Evenher hardwordsreproachful as they werewerecomplimentary--thegroans of a person stinging under defeat.MeetingMrs. O'Dowdwhom the Dean's sermons hadby nomeans comfortedand who was walking verydisconsolatelyin the ParcRebecca accosted the latterrather tothe surprise of the Major's wifewho was notaccustomedto such marks of politeness from Mrs.RawdonCrawleyand informing her that poor little Mrs.Osbornewas in a desperate conditionand almost madwithgriefsent off the good-natured Irishwoman straightto see ifshe could console her young favourite.

"I'vecares of my own enough" Mrs. O'Dowd saidgravely"and I thought poor Amelia would be littlewantingfor company this day.  But if she's so bad as yousayandyou can't attend to herwho used to be sofond ofherfaith I'll see if I can be of service.  And sogoodmarning to yeMadam"; with which speech and atoss ofher headthe lady of the repayther took afarewellof Mrs. Crawleywhose company she by no meanscourted.

Beckywatched her marching offwith a smile on herlip. She had the keenest sense of humourand theParthianlook which the retreating Mrs. O'Dowd flungover hershoulder almost upset Mrs. Crawley's gravity."Myservice to yeme fine Madamand I'm glad to seeye socheerful" thought Peggy.  "It's not YOU that will cryyour eyesout with griefanyway." And with this shepassed onand speedily found her way to Mrs. Osborne'slodgings.

The poorsoul was still at the bedsidewhere Rebeccahad leftherand stood almost crazy with grief.  TheMajor'swifea stronger-minded womanendeavoured herbest tocomfort her young friend.  "You must bear upAmeliadear" she said kindly"for he mustn't find youill whenhe sends for you after the victory.  It's not youare theonly woman that are in the hands of God thisday."

"Iknow that.  I am very wickedvery weak" Ameliasaid. She knew her own weakness well enough.  Thepresenceof the more resolute friend checked ithowever; andshe wasthe better of this control and company.  Theywent ontill two o'clock; their hearts were with the columnas itmarched farther and farther away.  Dreadful doubtandanguish--prayers and fears and griefs unspeakable--followedthe regiment.  It was the women's tribute to thewar. It taxes both alikeand takes the blood of the menand thetears of the women.

Athalf-past twoan event occurred of daily importanceto Mr.Joseph: the dinner-hour arrived.  Warriorsmay fightand perishbut he must dine.  He came intoAmelia'sroom to see if he could coax her to share thatmeal. "Try" said he; "the soup is very good.  Do tryEmmy"and he kissed her hand.  Except when she wasmarriedhe had not done so much for years before.  "Youare verygood and kindJoseph" she said.  "Everybodyisbutif you pleaseI will stay in my room to-day."

The savourof the souphoweverwas agreeable toMrs.O'Dowd's nostrils: and she thought she would bearMr. Joscompany.  So the two sate down to their meal."Godbless the meat" said the Major's wifesolemnly:she wasthinking of her honest Mickriding at the headof hisregiment:  " 'Tis but a bad dinner those poorboys willget to-day" she saidwith a sighand thenlike aphilosopherfell to.

Jos'sspirits rose with his meal.  He would drink theregiment'shealth; orindeedtake any other excuse toindulge ina glass of champagne.  "We'll drink to O'Dowdand thebrave --th" said hebowing gallantly to hisguest. "HeyMrs. O'Dowd?  Fill Mrs. O'Dowd's glassIsidor."

But all ofa suddenIsidor startedand the Major'swife laiddown her knife and fork.  The windows of theroom wereopenand looked southwardand a dull distantsound cameover the sun-lighted roofs from thatdirection. ''What is it?" said Jos.  "Why don't you pouryourascal?"

"Cestle feu!" said Isidorrunning to the balcony.

"Goddefend us; it's cannon!" Mrs. O'Dowd criedstartingupand followed too to the window.  A thousandpale andanxious faces might have been seen lookingfrom othercasements.  And presently it seemed as if thewholepopulation of the city rushed into the streets.

CHAPTERXXXIIInWhich Jos Takes Flightand the War Is Brought to a Close

We ofpeaceful London City have never beheld--andplease Godnever shall witness--such a scene of hurryand alarmas that which Brussels presented.  Crowdsrushed tothe Namur gatefrom which direction the noiseproceededand many rode along the level chausseetobe inadvance of any intelligence from the army.  Eachman askedhis neighbour for news; and even greatEnglishlords and ladies condescended to speak to personswhom theydid not know.  The friends of the French wentabroadwild with excitementand prophesying thetriumph oftheir Emperor.  The merchants closed theirshopsandcame out to swell the general chorus of alarmandclamour.  Women rushed to the churchesandcrowdedthe chapelsand knelt and prayed on the flagsandsteps.  The dull sound of the cannon went on rollingrolling. Presently carriages with travellers began to leavethe towngalloping away by the Ghent barrier.  Thepropheciesof the French partisans began to pass forfacts. "He has cut the armies in two" it was said.  "Heismarchingstraight on Brussels.  He will overpower theEnglishand be here to-night." "He will overpower theEnglish"shrieked Isidor to his master"and will be hereto-night."The man bounded in and out from the lodgingsto thestreetalways returning with some fresh particularsofdisaster.  Jos's face grew paler and paler.  Alarm beganto takeentire possession of the stout civilian.  All thechampagnehe drank brought no courage to him.  Beforesunset hewas worked up to such a pitch of nervousnessasgratified his friend Isidor to beholdwho now countedsurelyupon the spoils of the owner of the laced coat.

The womenwere away all this time.  After hearingthe firingfor a momentthe stout Major's wife bethoughther of herfriend in the next chamberand ran in to watchand ifpossible to consoleAmelia.  The idea that she hadthathelpless and gentle creature to protectgaveadditionalstrength to the natural courage of the honestIrishwoman. She passed five hours by her friend's sidesometimesin remonstrancesometimes talking cheerfullyoftener insilence and terrified mental supplication.  "Inever letgo her hand once" said the stout ladyafterwards"until after sunsetwhen the firing was over."Paulinethe bonnewas on her knees at church hard byprayingfor son homme a elle.

When thenoise of the cannonading was overMrs.O'Dowdissued out of Amelia's room into the parlouradjoiningwhere Jos sate with two emptied flasksandcourageentirely gone.  Once or twice he had ventured intohissister's bedroomlooking very much alarmedandas if hewould say something.  But the Major's wife kepther placeand he went away without disburtheninghimself ofhis speech.  He was ashamed to tell her that hewanted tofly.

But whenshe made her appearance in the dining-roomwhere hesate in the twilight in the cheerless companyof hisempty champagne bottleshe began to open hismind toher.

"Mrs.O'Dowd" he said"hadn't you better get Ameliaready?"

"Areyou going to take her out for a walk?" said theMajor'slady; "sure she's too weak to stir."

"I--I'veordered the carriage" he said"and--andpost-horses;Isidor is gone for them" Jos continued.

"Whatdo you want with driving to-night?" answeredthe lady. "Isn't she better on her bed?  I've just got herto liedown."

"Gether up" said Jos; "she must get upI say":  andhe stampedhis foot energetically.  "I say the horses areordered--yesthe horses are ordered.  It's all overand--"

"Andwhat?" asked Mrs. O'Dowd.

"I'moff for Ghent" Jos answered.  "Everybody isgoing;there's a place for you!  We shall start in half-an-hour."

TheMajor's wife looked at him with infinite scorn.  "Idon't movetill O'Dowd gives me the route" said she."Youmay go if you likeMr. Sedley; butfaithAmeliaand I stophere."

"SheSHALL go" said Joswith another stamp of hisfoot. Mrs. O'Dowd put herself with arms akimbo beforethebedroom door.

"Isit her mother you're going to take her to?" shesaid; "ordo you want to go to Mamma yourselfMr.Sedley? Good marning--a pleasant journey to yesir.Bonvoyageas they sayand take my counseland shaveoff themmustachiosor they'll bring you into mischief."

"D--n!"yelled out Joswild with fearrageandmortification;and Isidor came in at this junctureswearing inhis turn. "Pas de chevauxsacre bleu!" hissed out thefuriousdomestic.  All the horses were gone.  Jos wasnot theonly man in Brussels seized with panic that day.

But Jos'sfearsgreat and cruel as they were alreadyweredestined to increase to an almost frantic pitchbefore thenight was over.  It has been mentioned howPaulinethe bonnehad son homme a elle also in theranks ofthe army that had gone out to meet the EmperorNapoleon. This lover was a native of Brusselsand aBelgianhussar.  The troops of his nation signalisedthemselvesin this war for anything but courageand youngVanCutsumPauline's admirerwas too good a soldierto disobeyhis Colonel's orders to run away.  Whilst ingarrisonat Brussels young Regulus (he had been born intherevolutionary times) found his great comfortandpassedalmost all his leisure momentsin Pauline'skitchen;and it was with pockets and holsters crammedfull ofgood things from her larderthat he had takeleave ofhis weeping sweetheartto proceed upon thecampaign afew days before.

As far ashis regiment was concernedthis campaignwas overnow.  They had formed a part of the divisionunder thecommand of his Sovereign apparentthe Princeof Orangeand as respected length of swords andmustachiosand the richness of uniform and equipmentsRegulusand his comrades looked to be as gallant a bodyof men asever trumpet sounded for.

When Neydashed upon the advance of the alliedtroopscarrying one position after the otheruntil thearrival ofthe great body of the British army fromBrusselschanged the aspect of the combat of Quatre Brasthesquadrons among which Regulus rode showed thegreatestactivity in retreating before the Frenchand weredislodgedfrom one post and another which they occupiedwithperfect alacrity on their part.  Their movementswere onlychecked by the advance of the British in theirrear. Thus forced to haltthe enemy's cavalry (whosebloodthirstyobstinacy cannot be too severelyreprehended)had at length an opportunity of coming to closequarterswith the brave Belgians before them; whopreferredto encounter the British rather than the Frenchand atonce turning tail rode through the Englishregimentsthat were behind themand scattered in alldirections. The regiment in fact did not exist any more.  It wasnowhere. It had no head-quarters.  Regulus found himselfgallopingmany miles from the field of actionentirelyalone; andwhither should he fly for refuge so naturallyas to thatkitchen and those faithful arms in whichPaulinehad so often welcomed him?

At someten o'clock the clinking of a sabre might havebeen heardup the stair of the house where the Osbornesoccupied astory in the continental fashion.  A knockmight havebeen heard at the kitchen door; and poorPaulinecome back from churchfainted almost withterror asshe opened it and saw before her her haggardhussar. He looked as pale as the midnight dragoon whocame todisturb Leonora.  Pauline would have screamedbut thather cry would have called her mastersanddiscoveredher friend.  She stifled her screamthenandleadingher hero into the kitchengave him beerandthe choicebits from the dinnerwhich Jos had not hadthe heartto taste.  The hussar showed he was no ghost bytheprodigious quantity of flesh and beer which hedevoured--andduring the mouthfuls he told his tale ofdisaster.

Hisregiment had performed prodigies of courageandhadwithstood for a while the onset of the whole Frencharmy. But they were overwhelmed at lastas was thewholeBritish army by this time.  Ney destroyed eachregimentas it came up.  The Belgians in vain interposed topreventthe butchery of the English.  The Brunswickerswererouted and had fled--their Duke was killed.  It wasa generaldebacle.  He sought to drown his sorrow forthe defeatin floods of beer.

Isidorwho had come into the kitchenheard theconversationand rushed out to inform his master.  "It isall over"he shrieked to Jos.  "Milor Duke is a prisoner;the Dukeof Brunswick is killed; the British army is infullflight; there is only one man escapedand he is in thekitchennow--come and hear him." So Jos tottered intothatapartment where Regulus still sate on the kitchentableandclung fast to his flagon of beer.  In the bestFrenchwhich he could musterand which was in soothof a veryungrammatical sortJos besought the hussar totell histale.  The disasters deepened as Regulus spoke.  Hewas theonly man of his regiment not slain on the field.He hadseen the Duke of Brunswick fallthe blackhussarsflythe Ecossais pounded down by the cannon."Andthe --th?" gasped Jos.

"Cutin pieces" said the hussar--upon which Paulinecried out"O my mistressma bonne petite dame" wentoff fairlyinto hystericsand filled the house with herscreams.

Wild withterrorMr. Sedley knew not how or whereto seekfor safety.  He rushed from the kitchen back tothesitting-roomand cast an appealing look at Amelia'sdoorwhich Mrs. O'Dowd had closed and locked in hisface; buthe remembered how scornfully the latter hadreceivedhimand after pausing and listening for a briefspace atthe doorhe left itand resolved to go into thestreetfor the first time that day.  Soseizing a candlehelookedabout for his gold-laced capand found it lying in itsusualplaceon a console-tablein the anteroomplacedbefore amirror at which Jos used to coquetalwaysgiving hisside-locks a twirland his cap the proper cockover hiseyebefore he went forth to make appearance inpublic. Such is the force of habitthat even in the midstof histerror he began mechanically to twiddle with hishairandarrange the cock of his hat.  Then he lookedamazed atthe pale face in the glass before himandespeciallyat his mustachioswhich had attained a richgrowth inthe course of near seven weekssince they hadcome intothe world.  They WILL mistake me for a militarymanthought heremembering Isidor's warning asto themassacre with which all the defeated British armywasthreatened; and staggering back to his bedchamberhe beganwildly pulling the bell which summoned hisvalet.

Isidoranswered that summons.  Jos had sunk in a chair--he hadtorn off his neckclothsand turned down hiscollarsand was sitting with both his hands lifted to histhroat.

"Coupez-moiIsidor" shouted he; "vite!  Coupez-moi!"

Isidorthought for a moment he had gone madandthat hewished his valet to cut his throat.

"Lesmoustaches" gasped Joe; "les moustaches--coupyrasyvite!"--his French was of this sort--volubleas we havesaidbut not remarkable for grammar.

Isidorswept off the mustachios in no time with therazorandheard with inexpressible delight his master'sordersthat he should fetch a hat and a plain coat.  "Neportyploo--habit militair--bonn--bonny a vooprennydehors"--wereJos's words--the coat and cap were atlast hisproperty.

This giftbeing madeJos selected a plain black coatandwaistcoat from his stockand put on a large whiteneckclothand a plain beaver.  If he could have got ashovel hathe would have worn it.  As it wasyou wouldhavefancied he was a flourishinglarge parson of theChurch ofEngland.

"Vennymaintenong" he continued"sweevy--ally--party--dongla roo." And so having saidhe plungedswiftlydown the stairs of the houseand passed into thestreet.

AlthoughRegulus had vowed that he was the onlyman of hisregiment or of the allied armyalmostwhohadescaped being cut to pieces by Neyit appearedthat hisstatement was incorrectand that a good numbermore ofthe supposed victims had survived the massacre.Manyscores of Regulus's comrades had found their wayback toBrusselsand all agreeing that they had runaway--filledthe whole town with an idea of the defeatof theallies.  The arrival of the French was expectedhourly;the panic continuedand preparations for flightwent oneverywhere.  No horses!  thought Josin terror.He madeIsidor inquire of scores of personswhetherthey hadany to lend or selland his heart sank withinhimatthe negative answers returned everywhere.  Shouldhe takethe journey on foot?  Even fear could not renderthatponderous body so active.

Almost allthe hotels occupied by the English in Brusselsface theParcand Jos wandered irresolutely aboutin thisquarterwith crowds of other peopleoppressed ashe was byfear and curiosity.  Some families he saw morehappy thanhimselfhaving discovered a team of horsesandrattling through the streets in retreat; others againthere werewhose case was like his ownand whocould notfor any bribes or entreaties procure thenecessarymeans of flight.  Amongst these would-be fugitivesJosremarked the Lady Bareacres and her daughterwhosate intheir carriage in the porte-cochere of their hotelall theirimperials packedand the only drawback towhoseflight was the same want of motive power whichkept Josstationary.

RebeccaCrawley occupied apartments in this hotel;and hadbefore this period had sundry hostile meetingswith theladies of the Bareacres family.  My LadyBareacrescut Mrs. Crawley on the stairs when they metby chance;and in all places where the latter's name wasmentionedspoke perseveringly ill of her neighbour.  TheCountesswas shocked at the familiarity of General Tuftowith theaide-de-camp's wife.  The Lady Blanche avoidedher as ifshe had been an infectious disease.  Only theEarlhimself kept up a sly occasional acquaintance withherwhenout of the jurisdiction of his ladies.

Rebeccahad her revenge now upon these insolentenemies. If became known in the hotel that CaptainCrawley'shorses had been left behindand when thepanicbeganLady Bareacres condescended to send hermaid tothe Captain's wife with her Ladyship's complimentsand adesire to know the price of Mrs. Crawley'shorses. Mrs. Crawley returned a note with her complimentsand anintimation that it was not her custom totransactbargains with ladies' maids.

This curtreply brought the Earl in person to Becky'sapartment;but he could get no more success than thefirstambassador.  "Send a lady's maid to ME!" Mrs.Crawleycried in great anger; "why didn't my LadyBareacrestell me to go and saddle the horses!  Is it herLadyshipthat wants to escapeor her Ladyship's femmedechambre?"  And this was all the answer that the Earlbore backto his Countess.

What willnot necessity do?  The Countess herselfactuallycame to wait upon Mrs. Crawley on the failureof hersecond envoy.  She entreated her to name her ownprice; sheeven offered to invite Becky to BareacresHouseifthe latter would but give her the means ofreturningto that residence.  Mrs. Crawley sneered at her.

"Idon't want to be waited on by bailiffs in livery" shesaid; "youwill never get back though most probably--at leastnot you and your diamonds together.  The Frenchwill havethose They will be here in two hoursand Ishall behalf way to Ghent by that time.  I would not sellyou myhorsesnonot for the two largest diamonds thatyourLadyship wore at the ball."  Lady Bareacres trembledwith rageand terror.  The diamonds were sewed into herhabitandsecreted in my Lord's padding and boots."Womanthe diamonds are at the banker'sand I WILLhave thehorses" she said.  Rebecca laughed in her face.Theinfuriate Countess went belowand sate in hercarriage;her maidher courierand her husband were sentonce morethrough the towneach to look for cattle; andwoe betidethose who came last!  Her Ladyship wasresolvedon departing the very instant the horses arrivedfrom anyquarter--with her husband or without him.

Rebeccahad the pleasure of seeing her Ladyship inthehorseless carriageand keeping her eyes fixed uponherandbewailingin the loudest tone of voicetheCountess'sperplexities.  "Not to be able to get horses!"she said"and to have all those diamonds sewed into thecarriagecushions!  What a prize it will be for the Frenchwhen theycome!--the carriage and the diamondsI mean;not thelady!"  She gave this information to the landlordto theservantsto the guestsand the innumerablestragglersabout the courtyard.  Lady Bareacres could haveshot herfrom the carriage window.

It waswhile enjoying the humiliation of her enemy thatRebeccacaught sight of Joswho made towards herdirectlyhe perceived her.

Thatalteredfrightenedfat facetold his secret wellenough. He too wanted to flyand was on the look-outfor themeans of escape.  "HE shall buy my horses"thoughtRebecca"and I'll ride the mare."

Jos walkedup to his friendand put the question forthehundredth time during the past hour"Did she knowwherehorses were to be had?"

"WhatYOU fly?" said Rebeccawith a laugh.  "Ithoughtyou were the champion of all the ladiesMr.Sedley."

"I--I'mnot a military man" gasped he.

"AndAmelia?--Who is to protect that poor little sisterof yours?"asked Rebecca.  "You surely would not deserther?"

"Whatgood can I do hersuppose--suppose the enemyarrive?"Jos answered.  "They'll spare the women; but myman tellsme that they have taken an oath to give noquarter tothe men--the dastardly cowards."

"Horrid!"cried Rebeccaenjoying his perplexity.

"BesidesI don't want to desert her" cried the brother."SheSHAN'T be deserted.  There is a seat for her in mycarriageand one for youdear Mrs. Crawleyif you willcome; andif we can get horses--" sighed he--

"Ihave two to sell" the lady said.  Jos could haveflunghimself into her arms at the news.  "Get the carriageIsidor"he cried; "we've found them--we have foundthem."

My horsesnever were in harness" added the lady."Bullfinchwould kick the carriage to piecesif you puthim in thetraces."

"Buthe is quiet to ride?" asked the civilian.

"Asquiet as a lamband as fast as a hare" answeredRebecca.

"Doyou think he is up to my weight?" Jos said.  Hewasalready on his backin imaginationwithout ever somuch as athought for poor Amelia.  What person wholoved ahorse-speculation could resist such a temptation?

In replyRebecca asked him to come into her roomwhither hefollowed her quite breathless to conclude thebargain. Jos seldom spent a half-hour in his life whichcost himso much money.  Rebeccameasuring the valueof thegoods which she had for sale by Jos's eagerness topurchaseas well as by the scarcity of the articleputupon herhorses a price so prodigious as to make eventhecivilian draw back.  "She would sell both or neither"she saidresolutely.  Rawdon had ordered her not to partwith themfor a price less than that which she specified.LordBareacres below would give her the same money--and withall her love and regard for the Sedley familyher dearMr. Joseph must conceive that poor people mustlive--nobodyin a wordcould be more affectionatebutmore firmabout the matter of business.

Jos endedby agreeingas might be supposed of him.The sum hehad to give her was so large that he wasobliged toask for time; so large as to be a little fortunetoRebeccawho rapidly calculated that with this sumand thesale of the residue of Rawdon's effectsand herpension asa widow should he fallshe would now beabsolutelyindependent of the worldand might look herweedssteadily in the face.

Once ortwice in the day she certainly had herselfthoughtabout flying.  But her reason gave her bettercounsel. "Suppose the French do come" thought Becky"whatcan they do to a poor officer's widow?  Bah!  thetimes ofsacks and sieges are over.  We shall be let to gohomequietlyor I may live pleasantly abroad with a snuglittleincome."

MeanwhileJos and Isidor went off to the stables toinspectthe newly purchased cattle.  Jos bade his mansaddle thehorses at once.  He would ride away that verynightthat very hour.  And he left the valet busy in gettingthe horsesreadyand went homewards himself topreparefor his departure.  It must be secret.  He would go tohischamber by the back entrance.  He did not care to faceMrs.O'Dowd and Ameliaand own to them that he wasabout torun.

By thetime Jos's bargain with Rebecca was completedand hishorses had been visited and examinedit wasalmostmorning once more.  But though midnight was longpassedthere was no rest for the city; the people wereupthelights in the houses flamedcrowds were stillabout thedoorsand the streets were busy.  Rumours ofvariousnatures went still from mouth to mouth:  onereportaverred that the Prussians had been utterlydefeated;another that it was the English who had beenattackedand conquered:  a third that the latter had heldtheirground.  This last rumour gradually got strength.  NoFrenchmenhad made their appearance.  Stragglers hadcome infrom the army bringing reports more and morefavourable: at last an aide-de-camp actually reachedBrusselswith despatches for the Commandant of theplacewhoplacarded presently through the town anofficialannouncement of the success of the allies at QuatreBrasandthe entire repulse of the French under Neyafter asix hours' battle.  The aide-de-camp must havearrivedsometime while Jos and Rebecca were making theirbargaintogetheror the latter was inspecting hispurchase. When he reached his own hotelhe found a scoreof itsnumerous inhabitants on the threshold discoursingof thenews; there was no doubt as to its truth.  And hewent up tocommunicate it to the ladies under his charge.He did notthink it was necessary to tell them how hehadintended to take leave of themhow he had boughthorsesand what a price he had paid for them.

Butsuccess or defeat was a minor matter to themwhohad onlythought for the safety of those they loved.Ameliaatthe news of the victorybecame still moreagitatedeven than before.  She was for going thatmoment tothe army.  She besought her brother with tears toconducther thither.  Her doubts and terrors reached theirparoxysm;and the poor girlwho for many hours hadbeenplunged into stuporraved and ran hither andthither inhysteric insanity--a piteous sight.  No manwrithingin pain on the hard-fought field fifteen milesoffwherelayafter their strugglesso many of the brave--no mansuffered more keenly than this poor harmlessvictim ofthe war.  Jos could not bear the sight of herpain. He left his sister in the charge of her stouter femalecompanionand descended once more to the thresholdof thehotelwhere everybody still lingeredand talkedand waitedfor more news.

It grew tobe broad daylight as they stood hereandfresh newsbegan to arrive from the warbrought bymen whohad been actors in the scene.  Wagons and longcountrycarts laden with wounded came rolling into thetown;ghastly groans came from within themandhaggardfaces looked up sadly from out of the straw.  JosSedley waslooking at one of these carriages with apainfulcuriosity--the moans of the people within werefrightful--thewearied horses could hardly pull the cart."Stop! stop!" a feeble voice cried from the strawand thecarriagestopped opposite Mr. Sedley's hotel.

"Itis GeorgeI know it is!" cried Ameliarushing in amoment tothe balconywith a pallid face and looseflowinghair.  It was not Georgehoweverbut it was thenext bestthing:  it was news of him.

It waspoor Tom Stubblewho had marched out ofBrusselsso gallantly twenty-four hours beforebearingthecolours of the regimentwhich he had defended verygallantlyupon the field.  A French lancer had speared theyoungensign in the legwho fellstill bravely holding tohis flag. At the conclusion of the engagementa placehad beenfound for the poor boy in a cartand he hadbeenbrought back to Brussels.

"Mr.SedleyMr. Sedley!" cried the boyfaintlyandJos cameup almost frightened at the appeal.  He had notat firstdistinguished who it was that called him.

Little TomStubble held out his hot and feeble hand."I'mto be taken in here" he said.  "Osborne--and--andDobbinsaid I was; and you are to give the man twonapoleons:my mother will pay you." This young fellow'sthoughtsduring the long feverish hours passed in thecarthadbeen wandering to his father's parsonage whichhe hadquitted only a few months beforeand he hadsometimesforgotten his pain in that delirium.

The hotelwas largeand the people kindand all theinmates ofthe cart were taken in and placed on variouscouches. The young ensign was conveyed upstairs toOsborne'squarters.  Amelia and the Major's wife hadrusheddown to himwhen the latter had recognised himfrom thebalcony.  You may fancy the feelings of thesewomen whenthey were told that the day was overandboth theirhusbands were safe; in what mute raptureAmeliafell on her good friend's neckand embracedher; inwhat a grateful passion of prayer she fell on herkneesandthanked the Power which had saved herhusband.

Our youngladyin her fevered and nervous conditioncould havehad no more salutary medicine prescribed forher by anyphysician than that which chance put in herway. She and Mrs. O'Dowd watched incessantly by thewoundedladwhose pains were very severeand in theduty thusforced upon herAmelia had not time to broodover herpersonal anxietiesor to give herself up to herown fearsand forebodings after her wont.  The youngpatienttold in his simple fashion the events of the dayandtheactions of our friends of the gallant --th.  They hadsufferedseverely.  They had lost very many officers andmen. The Major's horse had been shot under him as theregimentchargedand they all thought that O'Dowd wasgoneandthat Dobbin had got his majorityuntil on theirreturnfrom the charge to their old groundthe Major wasdiscoveredseated on Pyramus's carcaserefreshing him-self froma case-bottle.  It was Captain Osborne that cutdown theFrench lancer who had speared the ensign.Ameliaturned so pale at the notionthat Mrs. O'Dowdstoppedthe young ensign in this story.  And it wasCaptainDobbin who at the end of the daythough woundedhimselftook up the lad in his arms and carried him tothesurgeonand thence to the cart which was to bringhim backto Brussels.  And it was he who promised thedriver twolouis if he would make his way to Mr. Sedley'shotel inthe city; and tell Mrs. Captain Osborne that theaction wasoverand that her husband was unhurt andwell.

"Indeedbut he has a good heart that WilliamDobbin"Mrs. O'Dowd said"though he is always laughingat me."

YoungStubble vowed there was not such anotherofficer inthe armyand never ceased his praises of theseniorcaptainhis modestyhis kindnessand his admirablecoolnessin the field.  To these parts of the conversationAmelialent a very distracted attention:  it was only whenGeorge wasspoken of that she listenedand when hewas notmentionedshe thought about him.

In tendingher patientand in thinking of the wonderfulescapes ofthe day beforeher second day passedaway nottoo slowly with Amelia.  There was only oneman in thearmy for her:  and as long as he was wellitmust beowned that its movements interested her little.All thereports which Jos brought from the streets fellveryvaguely on her ears; though they were sufficient togive thattimorous gentlemanand many other peoplethen inBrusselsevery disquiet.  The French had beenrepulsedcertainlybut it was after a severe and doubtfulstruggleand with only a division of the French army.TheEmperorwith the main bodywas away at Lignywhere hehad utterly annihilated the Prussiansand wasnow freeto bring his whole force to bear upon the allies.The Dukeof Wellington was retreating upon the capitaland agreat battle must be fought under its wallsprobablyof which the chances were more than doubtful.The Dukeof Wellington had but twenty thousand Britishtroops onwhom he could relyfor the Germans wererawmilitiathe Belgians disaffectedand with this handfulhis Gracehad to resist a hundred and fifty thousand menthat hadbroken into Belgium under Napoleon.  UnderNapoleon! What warrior was therehowever famous andskilfulthat could fight at odds with him?

Josthought of all these thingsand trembled.  So didall therest of Brussels--where people felt that the fightof the daybefore was but the prelude to the greatercombatwhich was imminent.  One of the armies opposed totheEmperor was scattered to the winds already.  ThefewEnglish that could be brought to resist him wouldperish attheir postsand the conqueror would pass overtheirbodies into the city.  Woe be to those whom hefoundthere!  Addresses were preparedpublic functionariesassembledand debated secretlyapartments weregot readyand tricoloured banners and triumphalemblemsmanufacturedto welcome the arrival of HisMajestythe Emperor and King.

Theemigration still continuedand wherever familiescould findmeans of departurethey fled.  When Josontheafternoon of the 17th of Junewent to Rebecca'shotelhefound that the great Bareacres' carriage had atlengthrolled away from the porte-cochere.  The Earlhadprocured a pair of horses somehowin spite of Mrs.Crawleyand was rolling on the road to Ghent.  Louis theDesiredwas getting ready his portmanteau in that citytoo. It seemed as if Misfortune was never tired ofworryinginto motion that unwieldy exile.

Jos feltthat the delay of yesterday had been only arespiteand that his dearly bought horses must of asurety beput into requisition.  His agonies were verysevere allthis day.  As long as there was an English armybetweenBrussels and Napoleonthere was no need ofimmediateflight; but he had his horses brought fromtheirdistant stablesto the stables in the court-yard ofthe hotelwhere he lived; so that they might be under hisown eyesand beyond the risk of violent abduction.Isidorwatched the stable-door constantlyand had thehorsessaddledto be ready for the start.  He longedintenselyfor that event.

After thereception of the previous dayRebecca didnot careto come near her dear Amelia.  She clipped thebouquetwhich George had brought herand gave freshwater tothe flowersand read over the letter which hehad senther.  "Poor wretch" she saidtwirling round thelittle bitof paper in her fingers"how I could crush herwiththis!--and it is for a thing like this that she mustbreak herheartforsooth--for a man who is stupid--acoxcomb--andwho does not care for her.  My poor goodRawdon isworth ten of this creature." And then she felltothinking what she should do if--if anything happenedto poorgood Rawdonand what a great piece of luck itwas thathe had left his horses behind.

In thecourse of this day tooMrs. Crawleywho sawnotwithout anger the Bareacres party drive offbethoughther of the precaution which the Countess hadtakenanddid a little needlework for her own advantage;shestitched away the major part of her trinketsbillsandbank-notes about her personand so preparedwasready forany event--to fly if she thought fitor to stayandwelcome the conquerorwere he Englishman orFrenchman. And I am not sure that she did not dreamthat nightof becoming a duchess and Madame laMarechalewhile Rawdon wrapped in his cloakand makinghisbivouac under the rain at Mount Saint Johnwasthinkingwith all the force of his heartabout the littlewife whomhe had left behind him.

The nextday was a Sunday.  And Mrs. Major O'Dowdhad thesatisfaction of seeing both her patients refreshedin healthand spirits by some rest which they had takenduring thenight.  She herself had slept on a great chair inAmelia'sroomready to wait upon her poor friend or theensignshould either need her nursing.  When morningcamethisrobust woman went back to the house whereshe andher Major had their billet; and here performedanelaborate and splendid toilettebefitting the day.  Andit is verypossible that whilst alone in that chamberwhichherhusband had inhabitedand where his cap still lay onthepillowand his cane stood in the cornerone prayer atleast wassent up to Heaven for the welfare of the bravesoldierMichael O'Dowd.

When shereturned she brought her prayer-book withherandher uncle the Dean's famous book of sermonsout ofwhich she never failed to read every Sabbath; notunderstandingallhaplynot pronouncing many of thewordsarightwhich were long and abstruse--for theDean was alearned manand loved long Latin words--but withgreat gravityvast emphasisand with tolerablecorrectnessin the main.  How often has my Mick listenedto thesesermonsshe thoughtand me reading in thecabin of acalm!  She proposed to resume this exercise onthepresent daywith Amelia and the wounded ensignfor acongregation.  The same service was read on thatday intwenty thousand churches at the same hour; andmillionsof British men and womenon their kneesimploredprotection of the Father of all.

They didnot hear the noise which disturbed our littlecongregationat Brussels.  Much louder than that whichhadinterrupted them two days previouslyas Mrs.O'Dowd wasreading the service in her best voicethecannon ofWaterloo began to roar.

When Josheard that dreadful soundhe made up hismind thathe would bear this perpetual recurrence ofterrors nolongerand would fly at once.  He rushed into thesick man'sroomwhere our three friends had paused intheirprayersand further interrupted them by apassionateappeal to Amelia

"Ican't stand it any moreEmmy" he said; 'I won'tstand it;and you must come with me.  I have bought ahorse foryou--never mind at what price--and you mustdress andcome with meand ride behind Isidor."

"Godforgive meMr. Sedleybut you are no betterthan acoward" Mrs. O'Dowd saidlaying down thebook.

"Isay comeAmelia" the civilian went on; "nevermind whatshe says; why are we to stop here and bebutcheredby the Frenchmen?"

"Youforget the --thmy boy" said the little Stubblethewounded herofrom his bed--"and and youwon'tleave mewill youMrs. O'Dowd?"

"Nomy dear fellow" said shegoing up and kissingthe boy. "No harm shall come to you while I stand by.I don'tbudge till I get the word from Mick.  A prettyfigure I'dbewouldn't Istuck behind that chap on apillion?"

This imagecaused the young patient to burst outlaughingin his bedand even made Amelia smile.  "Idon't askher" Jos shouted out--"I don't ask that--thatIrishwomanbut you Amelia; once for allwill youcome?"

"Withoutmy husbandJoseph?" Amelia saidwith alook ofwonderand gave her hand to the Major's wife.Jos'spatience was exhausted.

"Good-byethen" he saidshaking his fist in a rageandslamming the door by which he retreated.  And thistime hereally gave his order for march:  and mounted inthecourt-yard.  Mrs. O'Dowd heard the clattering hoofsof thehorses as they issued from the gate; and lookingonmademany scornful remarks on poor Joseph as herode downthe street with Isidor after him in the lacedcap. The horseswhich had not been exercised for somedayswerelivelyand sprang about the street.  Josaclumsy andtimid horsemandid not look to advantage inthesaddle.  "Look at himAmelia deardriving into theparlourwindow.  Such a bull in a china-shop I neversaw."And presently the pair of riders disappeared at acanterdown the street leading in the direction of theGhentroadMrs. O'Dowd pursuing them with a fire ofsarcasm solong as they were in sight.

All thatday from morning until past sunsetthecannonnever ceased to roar.  It was dark when thecannonadingstopped all of a sudden.

All of ushave read of what occurred during thatinterval. The tale is in every Englishman's mouth; andyou and Iwho were children when the great battle waswon andlostare never tired of hearing and recountingthehistory of that famous action.  Its remembranceranklesstill in the bosoms of millions of the countrymen ofthosebrave men who lost the day.  They pant for anopportunityof revenging that humiliation; and if a contestending ina victory on their partshould ensueelatingthem intheir turnand leaving its cursed legacy of hatredand ragebehind to usthere is no end to the so-calledglory andshameand to the alternations of successfulandunsuccessful murderin which two high-spiritednationsmight engage.  Centuries hencewe Frenchmen andEnglishmenmight be boasting and killing each other stillcarryingout bravely the Devil's code of honour.

All ourfriends took their share and fought like men inthe greatfield.  All day longwhilst the women wereprayingten miles awaythe lines of the dauntless Englishinfantrywere receiving and repelling the furious charges ofthe Frenchhorsemen.  Guns which were heard at Brusselswereploughing up their ranksand comrades fallingandtheresolute survivors closing in.  Towards eveningtheattack ofthe Frenchrepeated and resisted so bravelyslackenedin its fury.  They had other foes besides theBritish toengageor were preparing for a final onset.  Itcame atlast:  the columns of the Imperial Guard marchedup thehill of Saint Jeanat length and at once to sweeptheEnglish from the height which they had maintainedall dayand spite of all:  unscared by the thunder of theartillerywhich hurled death from the English line--thedarkrolling column pressed on and up the hill.  It seemedalmost tocrest the eminencewhen it began to wave andfalter. Then it stoppedstill facing the shot.  Then at lasttheEnglish troops rushed from the post from which noenemy hadbeen able to dislodge themand the Guardturned andfled.

No morefiring was heard at Brussels--the pursuitrolledmiles away.  Darkness came down on the field andcity: and Amelia was praying for Georgewho was lyingon hisfacedeadwith a bullet through his heart.

CHAPTERXXXIIIInWhich Miss Crawley's Relations Are Very Anxious About Her

The kindreader must please to remember--while thearmy ismarching from Flandersandafter its heroicactionsthereis advancing to take the fortifications on thefrontiersof Franceprevious to an occupation of thatcountry--thatthere are a number of persons livingpeaceablyin England who have to do with the history atpresent inhandand must come in for their share of thechronicle. During the time of these battles and dangersold MissCrawley was living at Brightonvery moderatelymoved bythe great events that were going on.  The greateventsrendered the newspapers rather interestingto besureandBriggs read out the Gazettein which RawdonCrawley'sgallantry was mentioned with honourand hispromotionwas presently recorded.

"Whata pity that young man has taken such anirretrievablestep in the world!" his aunt said; "with his rankanddistinction he might have married a brewer'sdaughterwith a quarter of a million--like Miss Grains; or havelooked toally himself with the best families in England.He wouldhave had my money some day or other; or hischildrenwould--for I'm not in a hurry to goMiss Briggsalthoughyou may be in a hurry to be rid of me; andinstead ofthathe is a doomed pauperwith a dancing-girlfor awife."

"Willmy dear Miss Crawley not cast an eye ofcompassionupon the heroic soldierwhose name is inscribedin theannals of his country's glory?" said Miss Briggswho wasgreatly excited by the Waterloo proceedingsand lovedspeaking romantically when there was anoccasion. "Has not the Captain--or the Colonel as I maynow stylehim--done deeds which make the name ofCrawleyillustrious?"

"Briggsyou are a fool" said Miss Crawley: "ColonelCrawleyhas dragged the name of Crawley through themudMissBriggs.  Marry a drawing-master's daughterindeed!--marrya dame de compagnie--for she was nobetterBriggs; noshe was just what you are--only youngerand agreat deal prettier and cleverer.  Were you anaccompliceof that abandoned wretchI wonderof whosevile artshe became a victimand of whom you used tobe such anadmirer?  YesI daresay you were an accomplice.But youwill find yourself disappointed in my willI can tellyou:  and you will have the goodness to write toMr. Waxyand say that I desire to see him immediately."MissCrawley was now in the habit of writing to Mr.Waxy hersolicitor almost every day in the weekfor herarrangementsrespecting her property were all revokedand herperplexity was great as to the future dispositionof hermoney.

Thespinster hadhoweverrallied considerably; aswas provedby the increased vigour and frequency of hersarcasmsupon Miss Briggsall which attacks the poorcompanionbore with meeknesswith cowardicewith aresignationthat was half generous and half hypocritical--with theslavish submissionin a wordthat women ofherdisposition and station are compelled to show.  Whohas notseen how women bully women?  What tortureshave mento endurecomparable to those daily repeatedshafts ofscorn and cruelty with which poor women areriddled bythe tyrants of their sex?  Poor victims!  But wearestarting from our propositionwhich isthat MissCrawleywas always particularly annoying and savagewhen shewas rallying from illness--as they say woundstinglemost when they are about to heal.

While thusapproachingas all hopedto convalescenceMissBriggs was the only victim admitted into thepresenceof the invalid; yet Miss Crawley's relatives afaroff didnot forget their beloved kinswomanand by anumber oftokenspresentsand kind affectionatemessagesstrove to keep themselves alive in herrecollection.

In thefirst placelet us mention her nephewRawdonCrawley. A few weeks after the famous fight of Waterlooand afterthe Gazette had made known to her the promotionandgallantry of that distinguished officerthe Dieppepacketbrought over to Miss Crawley at Brightona boxcontainingpresentsand a dutiful letterfrom theColonelher nephew.  In the box were a pair of Frenchepauletsa Cross of the Legion of Honourand the hilt of asword--relicsfrom the field of battle:  and the letterdescribedwith a good deal of humour how the latterbelongedto a commanding officer of the Guardwho havingsworn that"the Guard diedbut never surrendered"was takenprisoner the next minute by a private soldierwho brokethe Frenchman's sword with the butt of hismusketwhen Rawdon made himself master of theshatteredweapon.  As for the cross and epauletsthey camefrom aColonel of French cavalrywho had fallen undertheaide-de-camp's arm in the battle:  and Rawdon Crawleydid notknow what better to do with the spoils thanto sendthem to his kindest and most affectionate oldfriend. Should he continue to write to her from Pariswhitherthe army was marching?  He might be able togive herinteresting news from that capitaland of someof MissCrawley's old friends of the emigrationto whomshe hadshown so much kindness during their distress.

Thespinster caused Briggs to write back to the Colonela graciousand complimentary letterencouraginghim tocontinue his correspondence.  His first letter wassoexcessively lively and amusing that she should lookwithpleasure for its successors.--"Of courseI know"sheexplained toMiss Briggs"that Rawdon could notwrite sucha good letter any more than you couldmypoorBriggsand that it is that clever little wretch of aRebeccawho dictates every word to him; but that is noreason whymy nephew should not amuse me; and so Iwish tolet him understand that I am in high goodhumour."

I wonderwhether she knew that it was not only Beckywho wrotethe lettersbut that Mrs. Rawdon actuallytook andsent home the trophies which she bought for afewfrancsfrom one of the innumerable pedlars whoimmediatelybegan to deal in relics of the war.  Thenovelistwho knows everythingknows this also.  Be thishoweveras it mayMiss Crawley's gracious reply greatlyencouragedour young friendsRawdon and his ladywhohoped forthe best from their aunt's evidently pacifiedhumour: and they took care to entertain her with manydelightfulletters from Pariswhitheras Rawdon saidthey hadthe good luck to go in the track of theconqueringarmy.

To therector's ladywho went off to tend herhusband'sbroken collar-bone at the Rectory at Queen'sCrawleythe spinster's communications were by nomeans sogracious.  Mrs. Butethat briskmanaginglivelyimperious womanhad committed the most fatal ofall errorswith regard to her sister-in-law.  She had notmerelyoppressed her and her household--she had boredMissCrawley; and if poor Miss Briggs had been awoman ofany spiritshe might have been made happyby thecommission which her principal gave her to writea letterto Mrs. Bute Crawleysaying that Miss Crawley'shealth wasgreatly improved since Mrs. Bute had left herandbegging the latter on no account to put herself totroubleor quit her family for Miss Crawley's sake.  Thistriumphover a lady who had been very haughty andcruel inher behaviour to Miss Briggswould have rejoicedmostwomen; but the truth isBriggs was a woman of nospirit atalland the moment her enemy was discomfitedshe beganto feel compassion in her favour.

"Howsilly I was" Mrs. Bute thoughtand withreason"ever to hint that I was comingas I didin thatfoolishletter when we sent Miss Crawley the guinea-fowls. Iought to have gone without a word to the poordeardoting old creatureand taken her out of the handsof thatninny Briggsand that harpy of a femme dechambre. Oh!  ButeButewhy did you break your collar-bone?"

Whyindeed?  We have seen how Mrs. Butehaving thegame inher handshad really played her cards too well.She hadruled over Miss Crawley's household utterly andcompletelyto be utterly and completely routed when afavourableopportunity for rebellion came.  She and herhouseholdhoweverconsidered that she had been thevictim ofhorrible selfishness and treasonand that hersacrificesin Miss Crawley's behalf had met with the mostsavageingratitude.  Rawdon's promotionand thehonourablemention made of his name in the Gazettefilledthis goodChristian lady also with alarm.  Would his auntrelenttowards him now that he was a Lieutenant-Coloneland aC.B.? and would that odious Rebecca once moreget intofavour?  The Rector's wife wrote a sermon for herhusbandabout the vanity of military glory and theprosperityof the wickedwhich the worthy parson read inhis bestvoice and without understanding one syllable ofit. He had Pitt Crawley for one of his auditors--Pittwhohad comewith his two half-sisters to churchwhich.theoldBaronet could now by no means be brought tofrequent.

Since thedeparture of Becky Sharpthat old wretchhad givenhimself up entirely to his bad coursesto thegreatscandal of the county and the mute horror of hisson. The ribbons in Miss Horrocks's cap became moresplendidthan ever.  The polite families fled the hall andits ownerin terror.  Sir Pitt went about tippling at histenants'houses; and drank rum-and-water with thefarmers atMudbury and the neighbouring places onmarket-days. He drove the family coach-and-four toSouthamptonwith Miss Horrocks inside:  and the county peopleexpectedevery weekas his son did in speechless agonythat hismarriage with her would be announced in theprovincialpaper.  It was indeed a rude burthen for Mr.Crawley tobear.  His eloquence was palsied at themissionarymeetingsand other religious assemblies in theneighbourhoodwhere he had been in the habit ofpresidingand of speaking for hours; for he feltwhen he rosethat theaudience said"That is the son of the oldreprobateSir Pittwho is very likely drinking at the publichouse atthis very moment." And once when he wasspeakingof the benighted condition of the king ofTimbuctooand the number of his wives who were likewise indarknesssome gipsy miscreant from the crowd asked"Howmany is there at Queen's CrawleyYoungSquaretoes?"to the surprise of the platformand the ruinof Mr.Pitt's speech.  And the two daughters of the house ofQueen'sCrawley would have been allowed to run utterlywild (forSir Pitt swore that no governess should everenter intohis doors again)had not Mr. Crawleybythreateningthe old gentlemanforced the latter to sendthem toschool.

Meanwhileas we have saidwhatever individualdifferencesthere might be between them allMiss Crawley'sdearnephews and nieces were unanimous in loving herandsending her tokens of affection.  Thus Mrs. Bute sentguinea-fowlsand some remarkably fine cauliflowersanda prettypurse or pincushion worked by her darling girlswho beggedto keep a LITTLE place in the recollection oftheir dearauntwhile Mr. Pitt sent peaches and grapesandvenison from the Hall.  The Southampton coach usedto carrythese tokens of affection to Miss Crawley atBrighton: it used sometimes to convey Mr. Pitt thithertoo: for his differences with Sir Pitt caused Mr. Crawleyto absenthimself a good deal from home now:  andbesideshe had an attraction at Brighton in the person ofthe LadyJane Sheepshankswhose engagement to Mr.Crawleyhas been formerly mentioned in this history.HerLadyship and her sisters lived at Brighton with theirmammatheCountess Southdownthat strong-mindedwoman sofavourably known in the serious world.

A fewwords ought to be said regarding her Ladyshipand hernoble familywho are bound by ties of presentand futurerelationship to the house of Crawley.Respectingthe chief of the Southdown familyClementWilliamfourth Earl of Southdownlittle need be toldexceptthat his Lordship came into Parliament (as LordWolsey)under the auspices of Mr. Wilberforceand fora time wasa credit to his political sponsorand decidedlya seriousyoung man.  But words cannot describe thefeelingsof his admirable motherwhen she learnedveryshortlyafter her noble husband's demisethat her sonwas amember of several worldly clubshad lost largelyat play atWattier's and the Cocoa Tree; that he hadraisedmoney on post-obitsand encumbered the familyestate;that he drove four-in-handand patronised thering; andthat he actually had an opera-boxwhere heentertainedthe most dangerous bachelor company.  Hisname wasonly mentioned with groans in the dowager'scircle.

The LadyEmily was her brother's senior by manyyears; andtook considerable rank in the serious world asauthor ofsome of the delightful tracts before mentionedand ofmany hymns and spiritual pieces.  A maturespinsterand having but faint ideas of marriageher love forthe blacksoccupied almost all her feelings.  It is to herIbelievewe owe that beautiful poem

Lead usto some sunny isleYonderin the western deep;Wherethe skies for ever smileAnd theblacks for ever weep&c.

She hadcorrespondences with clerical gentlemen inmost ofour East and West India possessions; and wassecretlyattached to the Reverend Silas Hornblowerwhowastattooed in the South Sea Islands.

As for theLady Janeon whomas it has been saidMr.PittCrawley's affection had been placedshe was gentleblushingsilentand timid.  In spite of his falling awayshe weptfor her brotherand was quite ashamed ofloving himstill.  Even yet she used to send him little hurriedsmugglednotesand pop them into the post in private.The onedreadful secret which weighed upon her life wasthat sheand the old housekeeper had been to paySouthdowna furtive visit at his chambers in the Albany; andfoundhim--O the naughty dear abandoned wretch!--smoking acigar with a bottle of Curacao before him.  Sheadmiredher sistershe adored her mothershe thoughtMr.Crawley the most delightful and accomplished ofmenafterSouthdownthat fallen angel:  and her mammaandsisterwho were ladies of the most superior sortmanagedeverything for herand regarded her with thatamiablepityof which your really superior woman alwayshas such ashare to give away.  Her mamma ordered herdressesher booksher bonnetsand her ideas for her.She wasmade to take pony-ridingor piano-exerciseorany othersort of bodily medicamentaccording as myLadySouthdown saw meet; and her ladyship would havekept herdaughter in pinafores up to her present age ofsix-and-twentybut that they were thrown off when LadyJane waspresented to Queen Charlotte.

When theseladies first came to their house at Brightonit was tothem alone that Mr. Crawley paid his personalvisitscontenting himself by leaving a card at his aunt'shouseandmaking a modest inquiry of Mr. Bowls or hisassistantfootmanwith respect to the health of theinvalid. When he met Miss Briggs coming home from thelibrarywith a cargo of novels under her armMr. Crawleyblushed ina manner quite unusual to himas hesteppedforward and shook Miss Crawley's companion bythe hand. He introduced Miss Briggs to the lady withwhom hehappened to be walkingthe Lady JaneSheepshankssaying"Lady Janepermit me to introduce toyou myaunt's kindest friend and most affectionatecompanionMiss Briggswhom you know under another titleasauthoress of the delightful 'Lyrics of the Heart' ofwhich youare so fond."  Lady Jane blushed too as sheheld out akind little hand to Miss Briggsand saidsomethingvery civil and incoherent about mammaandproposingto call on Miss Crawleyand being glad to bemade knownto the friends and relatives of Mr. Crawley;and withsoft dove-like eyes saluted Miss Briggs astheyseparatedwhile Pitt Crawley treated her to aprofoundcourtly bowsuch as he had used to H.H. theDuchess ofPumpernickelwhen he was attache at that court.

The artfuldiplomatist and disciple of the MachiavellianBinkie! It was he who had given Lady Jane that copy ofpoorBriggs's early poemswhich he remembered to haveseen atQueen's Crawleywith a dedication from thepoetess tohis father's late wife; and he brought thevolumewith him to Brightonreading it in the Southamptoncoach andmarking it with his own pencilbefore hepresentedit to the gentle Lady Jane.

It was hetoowho laid before Lady Southdown thegreatadvantages which might occur from an intimacybetweenher family and Miss Crawley--advantages bothworldlyand spiritualhe said:  for Miss Crawley was nowquitealone; the monstrous dissipation and alliance of hisbrotherRawdon had estranged her affections from thatreprobateyoung man; the greedy tyranny and avarice ofMrs. ButeCrawley had caused the old lady to revoltagainstthe exorbitant pretensions of that part of thefamily;and though he himself had held off all his life fromcultivatingMiss Crawley's friendshipwith perhaps animproperpridehe thought now that every becomingmeansshould be takenboth to save her soul fromperditionand to secure her fortune to himself as the head ofthe houseof Crawley.

Thestrong-minded Lady Southdown quite agreed inbothproposals of her son-in-lawand was for convertingMissCrawley off-hand.  At her own homeboth atSouthdownand at Trottermore Castlethis tall and awfulmissionaryof the truth rode about the country in herbarouchewith outriderslaunched packets of tracts amongthecottagers and tenantsand would order Gaffer Jonesto beconvertedas she would order Goody Hicks to takea James'spowderwithout appealresistanceor benefit ofclergy. My Lord Southdownher late husbandan epilepticandsimple-minded noblemanwas in the habit ofapprovingof everything which his Matilda did andthought. So that whatever changes her own belief mightundergo(and it accommodated itself to a prodigiousvariety ofopiniontaken from all sorts of doctors amongtheDissenters) she had not the least scruple in orderingall hertenants and inferiors to follow and believe afterher. Thus whether she received the Reverend SaundersMcNitrethe Scotch divine; or the Reverend Luke Watersthe mildWesleyan; or the Reverend Giles JowlstheilluminatedCobblerwho dubbed himself Reverend asNapoleoncrowned himself Emperor--the householdchildrentenantry of my Lady Southdown were expected togo down ontheir knees with her Ladyshipand say Amento theprayers of either Doctor.  During these exercises oldSouthdownon account of his invalid conditionwasallowed tosit in his own roomand have negus and thepaper readto him.  Lady Jane was the old Earl's favouritedaughterand tended him and loved him sincerely:  as forLadyEmilythe authoress of the "Washerwoman ofFinchleyCommon" her denunciations of future punishment(at thisperiodfor her opinions modified afterwards)were soawful that they used to frighten the timidoldgentleman her fatherand the physicians declared hisfitsalways occurred after one of her Ladyship's sermons.

"Iwill certainly call" said Lady Southdown theninreply tothe exhortation of her daughter's pretenduMr.PittCrawley--"Who is Miss Crawley's medical man?"

Mr.Crawley mentioned the name of Mr. Creamer.

"Amost dangerous and ignorant practitionermy dearPitt. I have providentially been the means of removinghim fromseveral houses:  though in one or twoinstancesI did not arrive in time.  I could not save poordearGeneral Glanderswho was dying under the hands ofthatignorant man--dying.  He rallied a little under thePodgers'pills which I administered to him; but alas!  itwas toolate.  His death was delightfulhowever; and hischange wasonly for the better; Creamermy dear Pittmust leaveyour aunt."

Pittexpressed his perfect acquiescence.  Hetoohadbeencarried along by the energy of his noble kinswomanand futuremother-in-law.  He had been made to acceptSaundersMcNitreLuke WatersGiles JowlsPodgers'PillsRodgers' PillsPokey's Elixirevery one of herLadyship'sremedies spiritual or temporal.  He never lefther housewithout carrying respectfully away with himpiles ofher quack theology and medicine.  Omy dearbrethrenand fellow-sojourners in Vanity Fairwhichamong youdoes not know and suffer under suchbenevolentdespots?  It is in vain you say to them"DearMadamItook Podgers' specific at your orders last yearandbelieve in it.  Whywhy am I to recant and accept theRodgers'articles now?"  There is no help for it; the faithfulproselytizerif she cannot convince by argumentburstsinto tearsand the refusant finds himselfat theend of thecontesttaking down the bolusand saying"WellwellRodgers' be it."

"Andas for her spiritual state" continued the Lady"thatof course must be looked to immediately:  withCreamerabout hershe may go off any day:  and in whataconditionmy dear Pittin what a dreadful condition!I willsend the Reverend Mr. Irons to her instantly.  Janewrite aline to the Reverend Bartholomew Ironsin thethirdpersonand say that I desire the pleasure of hiscompanythis evening at tea at half-past six.  He is anawakeningman; he ought to see Miss Crawley before sherests thisnight.  And Emilymy loveget ready a packetof booksfor Miss Crawley.  Put up 'A Voice from theFlames''A Trumpet-warning to Jericho' and the'FleshpotsBroken; orthe Converted Cannibal.' "

"Andthe 'Washerwoman of Finchley Common'Mamma"said Lady Emily.  "It is as well to beginsoothinglyat first."

"Stopmy dear ladies" said Pittthe diplomatist."Withevery deference to the opinion of my beloved andrespectedLady SouthdownI think it would be quiteunadvisableto commence so early upon serious topics withMissCrawley.  Remember her delicate conditionand howlittlehow very little accustomed she has hitherto beentoconsiderations connected with her immortal welfare."

"Canwe then begin too earlyPitt?" said Lady Emilyrisingwith six little books already in her hand.

"Ifyou begin abruptlyyou will frighten her altogether.I know myaunt's worldly nature so well as to be surethat anyabrupt attempt at conversion will be the veryworstmeans that can be employed for the welfare of thatunfortunatelady.  You will only frighten and annoy her.She willvery likely fling the books awayand refuse allacquaintancewith the givers."

"Youare as worldly as Miss CrawleyPitt" said LadyEmilytossing out of the roomher books in her hand.

"AndI need not tell youmy dear Lady Southdown"Pittcontinuedin a low voiceand without heeding theinterruption"how fatal a little want of gentleness andcautionmay be to any hopes which we may entertain withregard tothe worldly possessions of my aunt.  Remembershe hasseventy thousand pounds; think of her ageandher highlynervous and delicate condition; I know that shehasdestroyed the will which was made in my brother's(ColonelCrawley's) favour:  it is by soothing thatwoundedspirit that we must lead it into the right pathand not byfrightening it; and so I think you will agreewith methat--that--'

"Ofcourseof course" Lady Southdown remarked."Janemy loveyou need not send that note to Mr. Irons.If herhealth is such that discussions fatigue herwe willwait heramendment.  I will call upon Miss Crawleytomorrow."

"Andif I might suggestmy sweet lady" Pitt said in ablandtone"it would be as well not to take our preciousEmilywhois too enthusiastic; but rather that you shouldbeaccompanied by our sweet and dear Lady Jane."

"MostcertainlyEmily would ruin everything" LadySouthdownsaid; and this time agreed to forego her usualpracticewhich wasas we have saidbefore she boredownpersonally upon any individual whom she proposedtosubjugateto fire in a quantity of tracts upon themenacedparty (as a charge of the French was alwaysprecededby a furious cannonade).  Lady Southdownwesayforthe sake of the invalid's healthor for the sakeof hersoul's ultimate welfareor for the sake of hermoneyagreed to temporise.

The nextdaythe great Southdown female familycarriagewith the Earl's coronet and the lozenge (uponwhich thethree lambs trottant argent upon the field vertof theSouthdownswere quartered with sable on a bendorthreesnuff-mulls gulesthe cognizance of the house ofBinkie)drove up in state to Miss Crawley's doorandthe tallserious footman handed in to Mr. Bowls herLadyship'scards for Miss Crawleyand one likewise forMissBriggs.  By way of compromiseLady Emily sent in apacket inthe evening for the latter ladycontainingcopies ofthe "Washerwoman" and other mild and favouritetracts forMiss B.'s own perusal; and a few for theservants'hallviz.:  "Crumbs from the Pantry" "TheFrying Panand the Fire" and "The Livery of Sin" of amuchstronger kind.

CHAPTERXXXIVJamesCrawley's Pipe Is Put Out

Theamiable behaviour of Mr. Crawleyand Lady Jane'skindreception of herhighly flattered Miss Briggswhowasenabled to speak a good word for the latterafterthe cardsof the Southdown family had been presented toMissCrawley.  A Countess's card left personally too forherBriggswas not a little pleasing to the poor friendlesscompanion. "What could Lady Southdown mean byleaving acard upon youI wonderMiss Briggs?" saidtherepublican Miss Crawley; upon which the companionmeeklysaid "that she hoped there could be no harm in alady ofrank taking notice of a poor gentlewoman" andshe putaway this card in her work-box amongst her mostcherishedpersonal treasures.  FurthermoreMiss Briggsexplainedhow she had met Mr. Crawley walking with hiscousin andlong affianced bride the day before:  and shetold howkind and gentle-looking the lady wasand whata plainnot to say commondress she hadall the articlesof whichfrom the bonnet down to the bootsshedescribedand estimated with female accuracy.

MissCrawley allowed Briggs to prattle on withoutinterruptingher too much.  As she got wellshe was piningforsociety.  Mr. Creamerher medical manwould nothear ofher returning to her old haunts and dissipation inLondon. The old spinster was too glad to find anycompanionshipat Brightonand not only were the cardsacknowledgedthe very next daybut Pitt Crawley wasgraciouslyinvited to come and see his aunt.  He camebringingwith him Lady Southdown and her daughter.  Thedowagerdid not say a word about the state of MissCrawley'ssoul; but talked with much discretion about theweather: about the war and the downfall of the monsterBonaparte: and above allabout doctorsquacksand theparticularmerits of Dr. Podgerswhom she thenpatronised.

Duringtheir interview Pitt Crawley made a greatstrokeand one which showed thathad his diplomaticcareer notbeen blighted by early neglecthe might haverisen to ahigh rank in his profession.  When the CountessDowager ofSouthdown fell foul of the Corsican upstartas thefashion was in those daysand showed that he wasa monsterstained with every conceivable crimea cowardand atyrant not fit to liveone whose fall was predicted&c.Pitt Crawley suddenly took up the cudgels in favourof the manof Destiny.  He described the First Consul ashe saw himat Paris at the peace of Amiens; when hePittCrawleyhad the gratification of making the acquaintanceof thegreat and good Mr. Foxa statesman whomhowevermuch he might differ with himit was impossible notto admirefervently--a statesman who had always hadthehighest opinion of the Emperor Napoleon.  And hespoke interms of the strongest indignation of the faithlessconduct ofthe allies towards this dethroned monarchwhoaftergiving himself generously up to their mercywasconsigned to an ignoble and cruel banishmentwhilea bigotedPopish rabble was tyrannising over France inhis stead.

Thisorthodox horror of Romish superstition savedPittCrawley in Lady Southdown's opinionwhilst hisadmirationfor Fox and Napoleon raised him immeasurablyin MissCrawley's eyes.  Her friendship with thatdefunctBritish statesman was mentioned when we firstintroducedher in this history.  A true WhigMiss Crawleyhad beenin opposition all through the warand thoughtobe surethe downfall of the Emperor did not very muchagitatethe old ladyor his ill-treatment tend to shortenher lifeor natural restyet Pitt spoke to her heart whenhe laudedboth her idols; and by that single speech madeimmenseprogress in her favour.

"Andwhat do you thinkmy dear?" Miss Crawley saidto theyoung ladyfor whom she had taken a liking atfirstsightas she always did for pretty and modest youngpeople;though it must be owned her affections cooled asrapidly asthey rose.

Lady Janeblushed very muchand said "that she didnotunderstand politicswhich she left to wiser headsthan hers;but though Mamma wasno doubtcorrectMr.Crawley had spoken beautifully." And when the ladieswereretiring at the conclusion of their visitMiss Crawleyhoped"Lady Southdown would be so kind as to sendher LadyJane sometimesif she could be spared to comedown andconsole a poor sick lonely old woman." Thispromisewas graciously accordedand they separatedupon greatterms of amity.

"Don'tlet Lady Southdown come againPitt" said theold lady. "She is stupid and pompouslike all your mother'sfamilywhom I never could endure.  But bring that nicegood-naturedlittle Jane as often as ever you please." Pittpromisedthat he would do so.  He did not tell the CountessofSouthdown what opinion his aunt had formed ofherLadyshipwhoon the contrarythought that she hadmade amost delightful and majestic impression on MissCrawley.

And sonothing loth to comfort a sick ladyandperhapsnot sorry in her heart to be freed now and againfrom thedreary spouting of the Reverend BartholomewIronsandthe serious toadies who gathered round thefootstoolof the pompous Countessher mammaLadyJanebecame a pretty constant visitor to Miss Crawleyaccompaniedher in her drivesand solaced many of herevenings. She was so naturally good and softthat evenFirkin wasnot jealous of her; and the gentle Briggsthoughther friend was less cruel to her when kind LadyJane wasby.  Towards her Ladyship Miss Crawley'smannerswere charming.  The old spinster told her a thousandanecdotesabout her youthtalking to her in a verydifferentstrain from that in which she had been accustomedtoconverse with the godless little Rebecca; for there wasthat inLady Jane's innocence which rendered light talking impertinencebeforeherand Miss Crawley was toomuch of agentlewoman to offend such purity.  The youngladyherself had never received kindness except from thisoldspinsterand her brother and father:  and she repaidMissCrawley's engoument by artless sweetness andfriendship.

In theautumn evenings (when Rebecca was flauntingat Paristhe gayest among the gay conquerors thereandourAmeliaour dear wounded Ameliaah! where wasshe?) LadyJane would be sitting in Miss Crawley'sdrawing-roomsinging sweetly to herin the twilightherlittlesimple songs and hymnswhile the sun was settingand thesea was roaring on the beach.  The old spinsterused towake up when these ditties ceasedand ask formore. As for Briggsand the quantity of tears of happinesswhich shenow shed as she pretended to knitandlooked outat the splendid ocean darkling before thewindowsand the lamps of heaven beginning more brightly toshine--whoI say can measure the happiness andsensibilityof Briggs?

Pittmeanwhile in the dining-roomwith a pamphlet onthe CornLaws or a Missionary Register by his sidetookthat kindof recreation which suits romantic and unromanticmen afterdinner.  He sipped Madeira:  built castlesin theair:  thought himself a fine fellow:  felt himself muchmore inlove with Jane than he had been any time thesesevenyearsduring which their liaison had lasted withouttheslightest impatience on Pitt's part--and slept a gooddeal. When the time for coffee cameMr. Bowls used toenter in anoisy mannerand summon Squire Pittwhowould befound in the dark very busy with his pamphlet.

"Iwishmy loveI could get somebody to play piquetwith me"Miss Crawley said one night when this functionarymade hisappearance with the candles and the coffee."PoorBriggs can no more play than an owlshe is sostupid"(the spinster always took an opportunity of abusingBriggsbefore the servants); "and I think I shouldsleepbetter if I had my game."

At thisLady Jane blushed to the tips of her little earsand downto the ends of her pretty fingers; and when Mr.Bowls hadquitted the roomand the door was quite shutshe said:

"MissCrawleyI can play a little.  I used to--to playa littlewith poor dear papa."

"Comeand kiss me.  Come and kiss me this instantyou deargood little soul" cried Miss Crawley in an ecstasy:and inthis picturesque and friendly occupation Mr. Pittfound theold lady and the young onewhen he cameupstairswith him pamphlet in his hand.  How she did blushall theeveningthat poor Lady Jane!

It mustnot be imagined that Mr. Pitt Crawley's artificesescapedthe attention of his dear relations at theRectory atQueen's Crawley.  Hampshire and Sussex lievery closetogetherand Mrs. Bute had friends in thelattercounty who took care to inform her of alland a greatdeal morethan allthat passed at Miss Crawley's houseatBrighton.  Pitt was there more and more.  He did notcome formonths together to the Hallwhere his abominableold fatherabandoned himself completely to rum-and-waterand the odious society of the Horrocks family.Pitt'ssuccess rendered the Rector's family furiousandMrs. Buteregretted more (though she confessed less)than everher monstrous fault in so insulting Miss Briggsand inbeing so haughty and parsimonious to Bowls andFirkinthat she had not a single person left in Miss Crawley'shouseholdto give her information of what took placethere. "It was all Bute's collar-bone" she persisted insaying;"if that had not brokeI never would have left her.  Iam amartyr to duty and to your odious unclerical habitofhuntingBute."

"Hunting;nonsense!  It was you that frightened herBarbara"the divine interposed.  "You're a clever womanbut you'vegot a devil of a temper; and you're a screwwith yourmoneyBarbara."

"You'dhave been screwed in gaolButeif I had notkept yourmoney."

"Iknow I wouldmy dear" said the Rectorgood-naturedly."YouARE a clever womanbut you manage toowellyouknow":  and the pious man consoled himselfwith a bigglass of port.

"Whatthe deuce can she find in that spooney of a PittCrawley?"he continued.  "The fellow has not pluck enoughto say Boto a goose.  I remember when Rawdonwho is amanandbe hanged to himused to flog him round thestables asif he was a whipping-top:  and Pitt would gohowlinghome to his ma--haha!  Whyeither of my boyswould whophim with one hand.  Jim says he'srememberedat Oxford as Miss Crawley still--the spooney.

"IsayBarbara" his reverence continuedafter a pause.

"What?"said Barbarawho was biting her nailsanddrummingthe table.

"Isaywhy not send Jim over to Brighton to see if hecan doanything with the old lady.  He's very near gettinghisdegreeyou know.  He's only been plucked twice--sowas I--buthe's had the advantages of Oxford and auniversityeducation.  He knows some of the best chaps there.He pullsstroke in the Boniface boat.  He's a handsomefeller. D-- itma'amlet's put him on the old womanheyandtell him to thrash Pitt if he says anything.Hahaha!

"Jimmight go down and see hercertainly" the housewifesaid;adding with a sigh"If we could but get one ofthe girlsinto the house; but she could never endure thembecausethey are not pretty!"  Those unfortunate andwell-educatedwomen made themselves heard from theneighbouringdrawing-roomwhere they were thrummingawaywithhard fingersan elaborate music-piece on thepiano-forteas their mother spoke; and indeedthey were atmusicorat backboardor at geographyor at historythe wholeday long.  But what avail all these accomplishmentsin VanityFairto girls who are shortpoorplainand have abad complexion?  Mrs. Bute could think ofnobody butthe Curate to take one of them off her hands;and Jimcoming in from the stable at this minutethroughtheparlour windowwith a short pipe stuck in hisoilskincaphe and his father fell to talking about odds onthe St.Legerand the colloquy between the Rector and hiswifeended.

Mrs. Butedid not augur much good to the cause fromthesending of her son James as an ambassadorand sawhim departin rather a despairing mood.  Nor did theyoungfellow himselfwhen told what his mission was tobeexpectmuch pleasure or benefit from it; but he wasconsoledby the thought that possibly the old lady wouldgive himsome handsome remembrance of herwhichwould paya few of his most pressing bills at thecommencementof the ensuing Oxford termand so took hisplace bythe coach from Southamptonand was safelylanded atBrighton on the same evening?  with hisportmanteauhis favourite bull-dog Towzerand animmensebasket of farm and garden producefrom the dearRectoryfolks to the dear Miss Crawley.  Considering itwas toolate to disturb the invalid lady on the first nightof hisarrivalhe put up at an innand did not wait uponMissCrawley until a late hour in the noon of next day.

JamesCrawleywhen his aunt had last beheld himwasa gawkyladat that uncomfortable age when the voicevariesbetween an unearthly treble and a preternaturalbass; whenthe face not uncommonly blooms out withappearancesfor which Rowland's Kalydor is said to act asa cure;when boys are seen to shave furtively with theirsister'sscissorsand the sight of other young womenproducesintolerable sensations of terror in them; when thegreathands and ankles protrude a long way fromgarmentswhich have grown too tight for them; when theirpresenceafter dinner is at once frightful to the ladieswhoarewhispering in the twilight in the drawing-roomandinexpressiblyodious to the gentlemen over the mahoganywho arerestrained from freedom of intercourse anddelightfulinterchange of wit by the presence of that gawkyinnocence;whenat the conclusion of the second glasspapa says"Jackmy boygo out and see if the eveningholds up"and the youthwilling to be freeyet hurt atnot beingyet a manquits the incomplete banquet.  Jamesthen ahobbadehoywas now become a young manhaving hadthe benefits of a university educationandacquiredthe inestimable polish which is gained by living in afast setat a small collegeand contracting debtsandbeingrusticatedand being plucked.

He was ahandsome ladhoweverwhen he came topresenthimself to his aunt at Brightonand good lookswerealways a title to the fickle old lady's favour.  Nor didhisblushes and awkwardness take away from it:  shewaspleased with these healthy tokens of the younggentleman'singenuousness.

He said"he had come down for a couple of days to seea man ofhis collegeand--and to pay my respects to youMa'amandmy father's and mother'swho hope you arewell."

Pitt wasin the room with Miss Crawley when the ladwasannouncedand looked very blank when his namewasmentioned.  The old lady had plenty of humourandenjoyedher correct nephew's perplexity.  She asked afterall thepeople at the Rectory with great interest; and saidshe wasthinking of paying them a visit.  She praised thelad to hisfaceand said he was well-grown and very muchimprovedand that it was a pity his sisters had not someof hisgood looks; and findingon inquirythat he hadtaken uphis quarters at an hotelwould not hear of hisstoppingtherebut bade Mr. Bowls send for Mr. JamesCrawley'sthings instantly; "and hark yeBowls" sheaddedwith great graciousness"you will have thegoodnessto pay Mr. James's bill."

She flungPitt a look of arch triumphwhich causedthatdiplomatist almost to choke with envy.  Much as hehadingratiated himself with his auntshe had never yetinvitedhim to stay under her roofand here was a youngwhipper-snapperwho at first sight was made welcomethere.

"Ibeg your pardonsir" says Bowlsadvancing with aprofoundbow; "what otelsirshall Thomas fetch theluggagefrom?"

"Odam" said young Jamesstarting upas if in somealarm"I'll go."

"What!"said Miss Crawley.

"TheTom Cribb's Arms" said Jamesblushing deeply.

MissCrawley burst out laughing at this title.  Mr.Bowls gaveone abrupt guffawas a confidential servantof thefamilybut choked the rest of the volley; thediplomatistonly smiled.

"I--Ididn't know any better" said Jameslooking down."I'venever been here before; it was the coachman toldme."The young story-teller!  The fact isthat on theSouthamptoncoachthe day previousJames Crawley hadmet theTutbury Petwho was coming to Brighton tomake amatch with the Rottingdean Fibber; and enchantedby thePet's conversationhad passed the evening incompanywith that scientific man and his friendsat the inninquestion.

"I--I'dbest go and settle the score" James continued."Couldn'tthink of asking youMa'am" he addedgenerously.

Thisdelicacy made his aunt laugh the more.

"Goand settle the billBowls" she saidwith a wave ofher hand"and bring it to me."

Poor ladyshe did not know what she had done!  "There--there'sa little dawg" said Jameslooking frightfullyguilty. "I'd best go for him.  He bites footmen's calves."

All theparty cried out with laughing at this description;evenBriggs and Lady Janewho was sitting muteduring theinterview between Miss Crawley and hernephew: and Bowlswithout a wordquitted the room.

Stillbyway of punishing her elder nephewMissCrawleypersisted in being gracious to the young Oxonian.There wereno limits to her kindness or her complimentswhen theyonce began.  She told Pitt he might come todinnerand insisted that James should accompany herin herdriveand paraded him solemnly up and down thecliffonthe back seat of the barouche.  During all thisexcursionshe condescended to say civil things to him:she quotedItalian and French poetry to the poorbewilderedladand persisted that he was a fine scholarand wasperfectly sure he would gain a gold medalandbe aSenior Wrangler.

"Hawhaw" laughed Jamesencouraged by thesecompliments;"Senior Wranglerindeed; that's at the othershop."

"Whatis the other shopmy dear child?" said the lady.

"SeniorWranglers at Cambridgenot Oxford" said thescholarwith a knowing air; and would probably havebeen moreconfidentialbut that suddenly thereappearedon the cliff in a tax-cartdrawn by a bang-upponydressed in white flannel coatswith mother-of-pearlbuttonshis friends the Tutbury Pet and the RottingdeanFibberwith three other gentlemen of their acquaintancewho allsaluted poor James there in the carriage as hesate. This incident damped the ingenuous youth's spiritsand noword of yea or nay could he be induced to utterduring therest of the drive.

On hisreturn he found his room preparedand hisportmanteaureadyand might have remarked that Mr.Bowls'scountenancewhen the latter conducted him tohisapartmentswore a look of gravitywonderandcompassion. But the thought of Mr. Bowls did not enterhis head. He was deploring the dreadful predicamentin whichhe found himselfin a house full of old womenjabberingFrench and Italianand talking poetry to him."Reglarlyup a treeby jingo!" exclaimed the modestboywhocould not face the gentlest of her sex--notevenBriggs--when she began to talk to him; whereasput him atIffley Lockand he could out-slang theboldestbargeman.

At dinnerJames appeared choking in a whiteneckclothand had the honour of handing my Lady Janedownstairswhile Briggs and Mr. Crawley followedafterwardsconducting the old ladywith her apparatus ofbundlesand shawlsand cushions.  Half of Briggs's timeat dinnerwas spent in superintending the invalid'scomfortand in cutting up chicken for her fat spaniel.  Jamesdid nottalk muchbut he made a point of asking allthe ladiesto drink wineand accepted Mr. Crawley'schallengeand consumed the greater part of a bottle ofchampagnewhich Mr. Bowls was ordered to produce inhishonour.  The ladies having withdrawnand the twocousinsbeing left togetherPittthe ex-diplomatistbecame verycommunicative and friendly.  He asked afterJames'scareer at college--what his prospects in lifewere--hopedheartily he would get on; andin a wordwas frankand amiable.  James's tongue unloosed withthe portand he told his cousin his lifehis prospectshis debtshis troubles at the little-goand his rows withtheproctorsfilling rapidly from the bottles before himand flyingfrom Port to Madeira with joyous activity.

"Thechief pleasure which my aunt has" said Mr.Crawleyfilling his glass"is that people should do as theylike inher house.  This is Liberty HallJamesand youcan't doMiss Crawley a greater kindness than to doas youpleaseand ask for what you will.  I know youhave allsneered at me in the country for being a Tory.MissCrawley is liberal enough to suit any fancy.  Sheis aRepublican in principleand despises everything likerank ortitle."

"Whyare you going to marry an Earl's daughter?"saidJames.

"Mydear friendremember it is not poor Lady Jane'sfault thatshe is well born" Pitt repliedwith a courtlyair. "She cannot help being a lady.  BesidesI am aToryyouknow."

"Ohas for that" said Jim"there's nothing like oldblood; nodammynothing like it.  I'm none of yourradicals. I know what it is to be a gentlemandammy.See thechaps in a boat-race; look at the fellers in afight;ayelook at a dawg killing rats--which is it wins?thegood-blooded ones.  Get some more portBowlsoldboywhilst I buzz this bottle-here.  What was I asaying?"

"Ithink you were speaking of dogs killing rats" Pittremarkedmildlyhanding his cousin the decanter to"buzz.~

"Killingrats was I? WellPittare you a sportingman? Doyou want to see a dawg as CAN kill a rat?If you docome down with me to Tom Corduroy'sinCastleStreet Mewsand I'll show you such a bull-terrieras--Pooh!gammon" cried Jamesbursting out laughingat his ownabsurdity--"YOU don't care about a dawgor rat;it's all nonsense.  I'm blest if I think you knowthedifference between a dog and a duck."

"No;by the way" Pitt continued with increased blandness"itwas about blood you were talkingand thepersonaladvantages which people derive from patricianbirth. Here's the fresh bottle."

"Blood'sthe word" said Jamesgulping the ruby fluiddown. "Nothing like bloodsirin hossesdawgsANDmen. Whyonly last termjust before I was rusticatedthat isImean just before I had the measleshaha--therewas me andRingwood of ChristchurchBob RingwoodLordCinqbars' sonhaving our beer at the Bell atBlenheimwhen the Banbury bargeman offered to fight eitherof us fora bowl of punch.  I couldn't.  My arm was in asling;couldn't even take the drag down--a brute of amare ofmine had fell with me only two days beforeout withthe Abingdonand I thought my arm was broke.WellsirI couldn't finish himbut Bob had his coatoff atonce--he stood up to the Banbury man for threeminutesand polished him off in four rounds easy.  Gadhow he diddropsirand what was it? Bloodsirallblood."

"Youdon't drinkJames" the ex-attache continued."Inmy time at Oxfordthe men passed round the bottlea littlequicker than you young fellows seem to do."

"Comecome" said Jamesputting his hand to hisnose andwinking at his cousin with a pair of vinouseyes"nojokesold boy; no trying it on on me.  Youwant totrot me outbut it's no go.  In vino veritasoldboy. MarsBacchusApollo virorumhey? I wish myaunt wouldsend down some of this to the governor; it'sa preciousgood tap."

"Youhad better ask her" Machiavel continued"ormake thebest of your time now.  What says the bard?'Nunc vinopellite curasCras ingens iterabimus aequor' "and theBacchanalianquoting the above with a Houseof Commonsairtossed off nearly a thimbleful of winewith animmense flourish of his glass.

At theRectorywhen the bottle of port wine wasopenedafter dinnerthe young ladies had each a glassfrom abottle of currant wine.  Mrs. Bute took one glassof porthonest James had a couple commonlybut ashis fathergrew very sulky if he made further inroadson thebottlethe good lad generally refrained fromtrying formoreand subsided either into the currant wineor to someprivate gin-and-water in the stableswhichhe enjoyedin the company of the coachman and hispipe. At Oxfordthe quantity of wine was unlimitedbut thequality was inferior:  but when quantity andqualityunited as at his aunt's houseJames showed thathe couldappreciate them indeed; and hardly needed anyof hiscousin's encouragement in draining off thesecondbottle supplied by Mr. Bowls.

When thetime for coffee camehoweverand for areturn tothe ladiesof whom he stood in awethe younggentleman'sagreeable frankness left himand he relapsedinto hisusual surly timidity; contenting himself bysaying yesand noby scowling at Lady Janeand byupsettingone cup of coffee during the evening.

If he didnot speak he yawned in a pitiable mannerand hispresence threw a damp upon the modestproceedingsof the eveningfor Miss Crawley and Lady Janeat theirpiquetand Miss Briggs at her workfelt thathis eyeswere wildly fixed on themand were uneasyunder thatmaudlin look.

"Heseems a very silentawkwardbashful lad" saidMissCrawley to Mr. Pitt.

"Heis more communicative in men's society than withladies"Machiavel dryly replied:  perhaps ratherdisappointedthat the port wine had not made Jimspeakmore.

He hadspent the early part of the next morning inwritinghome to his mother a most flourishing accountof hisreception by Miss Crawley.  But ah! he little knewwhat evilsthe day was bringing for himand how short hisreign offavour was destined to be.  A circumstancewhich Jimhad forgotten--a trivial but fatal circumstance--hadtaken place at the Cribb's Arms on the nightbefore hehad come to his aunt's house.  It was no otherthanthis--Jimwho was always of a generous dispositionand whenin his cups especially hospitablehad in thecourse ofthe night treated the Tutbury champion andtheRottingdean manand their friendstwice or thriceto therefreshment of gin-and-water--so that no less thaneighteenglasses of that fluid at eightpence per glass werecharged inMr. James Crawley's bill.  It was not theamount ofeightpencesbut the quantity of gin whichtoldfatally against poor James's characterwhen hisaunt'sbutlerMr. Bowlswent down at his mistress'srequest topay the young gentleman's bill.  The landlordfearinglest the account should be refused altogethersworesolemnly that the young gent had consumedpersonallyevery farthing's worth of the liquor:  and Bowlspaid thebill finallyand showed it on his return hometo Mrs.Firkinwho was shocked at the frightfulprodigalityof gin; and took the bill to Miss Briggs asaccountant-general;who thought it her duty to mentionthecircumstance to her principalMiss Crawley.

Had hedrunk a dozen bottles of claretthe oldspinstercould have pardoned him.  Mr. Fox and Mr.Sheridandrank claret.  Gentlemen drank claret.  But eighteenglasses ofgin consumed among boxers in an ignoblepot-house--itwas an odious crime and not to bepardonedreadily.  Everything went against the lad:  he camehomeperfumed from the stableswhither he had beento pay hisdog Towzer a visit--and whence he wasgoing totake his friend out for an airingwhen he metMissCrawley and her wheezy Blenheim spanielwhichTowzerwould have eaten up had not the Blenheim fledsquealingto the protection of Miss Briggswhile theatrociousmaster of the bull-dog stood laughing at thehorriblepersecution.

This daytoo the unlucky boy's modesty had likewiseforsakenhim.  He was lively and facetious at dinner.During therepast he levelled one or two jokes against PittCrawley: he drank as much wine as upon the previousday; andgoing quite unsuspiciously to the drawing-roombegan toentertain the ladies there with some choiceOxfordstories.  He described the different pugilistic qualitiesofMolyneux and Dutch Samoffered playfully to giveLady Janethe odds upon the Tutbury Pet against theRottingdeanmanor take themas her Ladyship chose:andcrowned the pleasantry by proposing to backhimselfagainst his cousin Pitt Crawleyeither with or withoutthegloves.  "And that's a fair offermy buck" he saidwith aloud laughslapping Pitt on the shoulder"andmy fathertold me to make it tooand he'll go halvesin thebethaha!" So sayingthe engaging youth noddedknowinglyat poor Miss Briggsand pointed his thumbover hisshoulder at Pitt Crawley in a jocular andexultingmanner.

Pitt wasnot pleased altogether perhapsbut still notunhappy inthe main.  Poor Jim had his laugh out:  andstaggeredacross the room with his aunt's candlewhenthe oldlady moved to retireand offered to salute herwith theblandest tipsy smile:  and he took his own leaveand wentupstairs to his bedroom perfectly satisfied withhimselfand with a pleased notion that his aunt's moneywould beleft to him in preference to his father and allthe restof the family.

Once up inthe bedroomone would have thought hecould notmake matters worse; and yet this unlucky boydid. The moon was shining very pleasantly out on theseaandJimattracted to the window by the romanticappearanceof the ocean and the heavensthought hewouldfurther enjoy them while smoking.  Nobody wouldsmell thetobaccohe thoughtif he cunningly openedthe windowand kept his head and pipe in the fresh air.This hedid:  but being in an excited statepoor Jimhadforgotten that his door was open all this timesothat thebreeze blowing inwards and a fine thoroughdraughtbeing establishedthe clouds of tobacco werecarrieddownstairsand arrived with quite undiminishedfragranceto Miss Crawley and Miss Briggs.

The pipeof tobacco finished the business:  and theBute-Crawleysnever knew how many thousand poundsit costthem.  Firkin rushed downstairs to Bowls whowasreading out the "Fire and the Frying Pan" to hisaide-de-campin a loud and ghostly voice.  The dreadfulsecret wastold to him by Firkin with so frightened a lookthat forthe first moment Mr. Bowls and his young manthoughtthat robbers were in the housethe legs of whomhadprobably been discovered by the woman under MissCrawley'sbed.  When made aware of the facthowever--to rushupstairs at three steps at a time to entertheunconscious James's apartmentcalling out"Mr.James"in a voice stifled with alarmand to cry"ForGawd'ssakesirstop that 'ere pipe" was the work ofa minutewith Mr. Bowls.  "OMr. Jameswhat 'AVE youdone!"he said in a voice of the deepest pathosas hethrew theimplement out of the window.  "What 'ave youdonesir!  Missis can't abide 'em."

"Missisneedn't smoke" said James with a franticmisplacedlaughand thought the whole matter an excellentjoke. But his feelings were very different in the morningwhen Mr.Bowls's young manwho operated upon Mr.James'sbootsand brought him his hot water to shavethat beardwhich he was so anxiously expectinghandeda note into Mr. James in bedin the handwriting ofMissBriggs.

"Dearsir" it said"Miss Crawley has passed anexceedinglydisturbed nightowing to the shocking mannerin whichthe house has been polluted by tobacco; MissCrawleybids me say she regrets that she is too unwellto see youbefore you go--and above all that she everinducedyou to remove from the ale-housewhere she issure youwill be much more comfortable during the restof yourstay at Brighton."

Andherewith honest James's career as a candidate forhis aunt'sfavour ended.  He had in factand withoutknowingitdone what he menaced to do.  He had foughthis cousinPitt with the gloves.

Wheremeanwhile was he who had been once firstfavouritefor this race for money? Becky and Rawdonas we haveseenwere come together after Waterlooand werepassing the winter of 1815 at Paris in greatsplendourand gaiety.  Rebecca was a good economistand theprice poor Jos Sedley had paid for her twohorses wasin itself sufficient to keep their littleestablishmentafloat for a yearat the least; there was nooccasionto turn into money "my pistolsthe same whichI shotCaptain Marker" or the gold dressing-caseorthe cloaklined with sable.  Becky had it made into apelissefor herselfin which she rode in the Bois deBoulogneto the admiration of all:  and you should haveseen thescene between her and her delighted husbandwhom sherejoined after the army had entered Cambrayand whenshe unsewed herselfand let out of her dressall thosewatchesknick-knacksbank-noteschequesandvaluableswhich she had secreted in the waddingpreviousto hermeditated flight from Brussels!  Tufto was charmedand Rawdonroared with delighted laughterand sworethat shewas better than any play he ever sawby Jove.And theway in which she jockeyed Josand whichshedescribed with infinite funcarried up his delight toa pitch ofquite insane enthusiasm.  He believed in hiswife asmuch as the French soldiers in Napoleon.

Hersuccess in Paris was remarkable.  All the Frenchladiesvoted her charming.  She spoke their languageadmirably. She adopted at once their gracetheir livelinesstheirmanner.  Her husband was stupid certainly--allEnglishare stupid--andbesidesa dull husband at Paris isalways apoint in a lady's favour.  He was the heir of therich andspirituelle Miss Crawleywhose house had beenopen to somany of the French noblesse during theemigration. They received the colonel's wife in their ownhotels--"Why"wrote a great lady to Miss Crawleywhohad boughther lace and trinkets at the Duchess's ownpriceandgiven her many a dinner during the pinchingtimesafter the Revolution--"Why does not our dear Misscome toher nephew and nieceand her attached friendsin Paris?All the world raffoles of the charming Mistressand herespiegle beauty.  Yeswe see in her the gracethe charmthe wit of our dear friend Miss Crawley!The Kingtook notice of her yesterday at the Tuileriesand we areall jealous of the attention which Monsieurpays her. If you could have seen the spite of a certainstupidMiladi Bareacres (whose eagle-beak and toqueandfeathers may be seen peering over the heads of allassemblies)when Madamethe Duchess of Angoulemethe augustdaughter and companion of kingsdesiredespeciallyto be presented to Mrs. Crawleyas your deardaughterand protegeeand thanked her in the nameof Francefor all your benevolence towards ourunfortunatesduring their exile!  She is of all the societiesof all theballs--of the balls--yes--of the dancesno;and yethow interesting and pretty this fair creature lookssurroundedby the homage of the menand so soon tobe amother!  To hear her speak of youher protectresshermotherwould bring tears to the eyes of ogres.  Howshe lovesyou! how we all love our admirableourrespectableMiss Crawley!"

It is tobe feared that this letter of the Parisian greatlady didnot by any means advance Mrs. Becky's interestwith heradmirableher respectablerelative.  On thecontrarythe fury of the old spinster was beyond boundswhen shefound what was Rebecca's situationand howaudaciouslyshe had made use of Miss Crawley's nameto get anentree into Parisian society.  Too much shakenin mindand body to compose a letter in the Frenchlanguagein reply to that of her correspondentshedictatedto Briggs a furious answer in her own native tonguerepudiatingMrs. Rawdon Crawley altogetherand warningthe publicto beware of her as a most artful anddangerousperson.  But as Madame the Duchess of X--had onlybeen twenty years in Englandshe did notunderstanda single word of the languageand contentedherself byinforming Mrs. Rawdon Crawley at their nextmeetingthat she had received a charming letter fromthat chereMeesand that it was full of benevolentthings forMrs. Crawleywho began seriously to havehopes thatthe spinster would relent.

Meanwhileshe was the gayest and most admired ofEnglishwomen: and had a little European congress on herreception-night. Prussians and CossacksSpanish andEnglish--allthe world was at Paris during this famouswinter: to have seen the stars and cordons in Rebecca'shumblesaloon would have made all Baker Street palewithenvy.  Famous warriors rode by her carriage inthe Boisor crowded her modest little box at the Opera.Rawdon wasin the highest spirits.  There were no dunsin Parisas yet:  there were parties every day at Very'sorBeauvilliers'; play was plentiful and his luck good.Tuftoperhaps was sulky.  Mrs. Tufto had come over toParis ather own invitationand besides thiscontretempsthere were a score of generals now roundBecky'schairand she might take her choice of a dozenbouquetswhen she went to the play.  Lady Bareacresand thechiefs of the English societystupid andirreproachablefemaleswrithed with anguish at thesuccess ofthe little upstart Beckywhose poisoned jokesquiveredand rankled in their chaste breasts.  But shehad allthe men on her side.  She fought the womenwithindomitable courageand they could not talkscandal inany tongue but their own.

So infetespleasuresand prosperitythe winter of1815-16passed away with Mrs. Rawdon Crawleywhoaccommodated herself to polite life as if herancestorshad been people of fashion for centuries past--and whofrom her wittalentand energyindeed meriteda place ofhonour in Vanity Fair.  In the early spring of1816Galignani's Journal contained the followingannouncementin an interesting corner of the paper:  "Onthe 26thof March--the Lady of Lieutenant-ColonelCrawleyof the Life Guards Green--of a son and heir."

This eventwas copied into the London papersout ofwhich MissBriggs read the statement to Miss Crawleyatbreakfastat Brighton.  The intelligenceexpected asit mighthave beencaused a crisis in the affairs oftheCrawley family.  The spinster's rage rose to its heightandsending instantly for Pitther nephewand for theLadySouthdownfrom Brunswick Squareshe requestedanimmediate celebration of the marriage which had beenso longpending between the two families.  And sheannouncedthat it was her intention to allow the youngcouple athousand a year during her lifetimeat theexpirationof which the bulk of her property would besettledupon her nephew and her dear nieceLady JaneCrawley. Waxy came down to ratify the deeds--LordSouthdowngave away his sister--she was married by aBishopand not by the Rev.  Bartholomew Irons--to thedisappointmentof the irregular prelate.

When theywere marriedPitt would have liked totake ahymeneal tour with his brideas became peopleof theircondition.  But the affection of the old ladytowardsLady Jane had grown so strongthat she fairlyowned shecould not part with her favourite.  Pitt andhis wifecame therefore and lived with Miss Crawley:and(greatly to the annoyance of poor Pittwhoconceivedhimself a most injured character--being subjectto thehumours of his aunt on one sideand of hismother-in-lawon the other) Lady Southdownfrom herneighbouringhousereigned over the whole family--PittLadyJaneMiss CrawleyBriggsBowlsFirkinandall. She pitilessly dosed them with her tracts and hermedicineshe dismissed Creamershe installed Rodgersand soonstripped Miss Crawley of even the semblanceofauthority.  The poor soul grew so timid that sheactuallyleft off bullying Briggs any moreand clung toher niecemore fond and terrified every day.  Peace totheekindand selfishvain and generous old heathen!--We shallsee thee no more.  Let us hope that Lady Janesupportedher kindlyand led her with gentle hand outof thebusy struggle of Vanity Fair.

CHAPTERXXXVWidowand Mother

The newsof the great fights of Quatre Bras and WaterlooreachedEngland at the same time.  The Gazette firstpublishedthe result of the two battles; at which gloriousintelligenceall England thrilled with triumph and fear.Particularsthen followed; and after the announcement ofthevictories came the list of the wounded and the slain.Who cantell the dread with which that catalogue wasopened andread!  Fancyat every village and homesteadalmostthrough the three kingdomsthe great newscoming ofthe battles in Flandersand the feelings ofexultationand gratitudebereavement and sickening dismaywhen thelists of the regimental losses were gone throughand itbecame known whether the dear friend and relativehadescaped or fallen.  Anybody who will take the troubleof lookingback to a file of the newspapers of thetimemusteven nowfeel at second-hand this breathlesspause ofexpectation.  The lists of casualties are carriedon fromday to day:  you stop in the midst as in a storywhich isto be continued in our next.  Think what thefeelingsmust have been as those papers followed eachotherfresh from the press; and if such an interest couldbe felt inour countryand about a battle where buttwentythousand of our people were engagedthink ofthecondition of Europe for twenty years beforewherepeoplewere fightingnot by thousandsbut by millions;each oneof whom as he struck his enemy woundedhorriblysome other innocent heart far away.

The newswhich that famous Gazette brought to theOsbornesgave a dreadful shock to the family and its chief.The girlsindulged unrestrained in their grief.  Thegloom-strickenold father was still more borne down by his fateandsorrow.  He strove to think that a judgment was onthe boyfor his disobedience.  He dared not own that theseverityof the sentence frightened himand that itsfulfilmenthad come too soon upon his curses.  Sometimes ashudderingterror struck himas if he had been the authorof thedoom which he had called down on his son.  Therewas achance before of reconciliation.  The boy's wifemight havedied; or he might have come back and saidFather Ihave sinned.  But there was no hope now.  Hestood onthe other side of the gulf impassablehauntinghis parentwith sad eyes.  He remembered them oncebefore soin a feverwhen every one thought the lad wasdyingandhe lay on his bed speechlessand gazing with adreadfulgloom.  Good God! how the father clung to thedoctorthenand with what a sickening anxiety hefollowedhim:  what a weight of grief was off his mind whenafter thecrisis of the feverthe lad recoveredand lookedat hisfather once more with eyes that recognised him.But nowthere was no help or cureor chance ofreconcilement: above allthere were no humble words tosoothevanity outraged and furiousor bring to its naturalflow thepoisonedangry blood.  And it is hard to saywhich pangit was that tore the proud father's heart mostkeenly--thathis son should have gone out of the reachof hisforgivenessor that the apology which his ownprideexpected should have escaped him.

Whateverhis sensations might have beenhoweverthestem oldman would have no confidant.  He nevermentionedhis son's name to his daughters; but ordered theelder toplace all the females of the establishment inmourning;and desired that the male servants should besimilarlyattired in deep black.  All parties and entertainmentsof coursewere to be put off.  No communicationswere madeto his future son-in-lawwhose marriage-dayhad beenfixed:  but there was enough in Mr. Osborne'sappearanceto prevent Mr. Bullock from making anyinquiriesor in any way pressing forward that ceremony.He and theladies whispered about it under their voicesin thedrawing-room sometimeswhither the father nevercame. He remained constantly in his own study; thewholefront part of the house being closed until sometime afterthe completion of the general mourning.

Aboutthree weeks after the 18th of JuneMr.Osborne'sacquaintanceSir William Dobbincalled at Mr.Osborne'shouse in Russell Squarewith a very pale andagitatedfaceand insisted upon seeing that gentleman.Usheredinto his roomand after a few wordswhichneitherthe speaker nor the host understoodthe formerproducedfrom an inclosure a letter sealed with a largered seal. "My sonMajor Dobbin" the Alderman saidwith somehesitation"despatched me a letter by anofficer ofthe --thwho arrived in town to-day.  My son'slettercontains one for youOsborne." The Aldermanplaced theletter on the tableand Osborne stared at himfor amoment or two in silence.  His looks frightened theambassadorwho after looking guiltily for a little time atthegrief-stricken manhurried away without anotherword.

The letterwas in George's well-known bold handwriting.It wasthat one which he had written before daybreakon the16th of Juneand just before he took leaveofAmelia.  The great red seal was emblazoned with thesham coatof arms which Osborne had assumed fromthePeeragewith "Pax in bello" for a motto; that of theducalhouse with which the vain old man tried to fancyhimselfconnected.  The hand that signed it would neverhold penor sword more.  The very seal that sealed ithad beenrobbed from George's dead body as it lay on thefield ofbattle.  The father knew nothing of thisbut sat andlooked atthe letter in terrified vacancy.  He almost fellwhen hewent to open it.

Have youever had a difference with a dear friend?How hisletterswritten in the period of love andconfidencesicken and rebuke you!  What a dreary mourningit is todwell upon those vehement protests of deadaffection! What lying epitaphs they make over the corpse oflove! What darkcruel comments upon Life and Vanities!Most of ushave got or written drawers full of them.They arecloset-skeletons which we keep and shun.Osbornetrembled long before the letter from his deadson.

The poorboy's letter did not say much.  He had beentoo proudto acknowledge the tenderness which his heartfelt. He only saidthat on the eve of a great battlehewished tobid his father farewelland solemnly to implorehis goodoffices for the wife--it might be for the child--whom heleft behind him.  He owned with contrition thathisirregularities and his extravagance had already wasteda largepart of his mother's little fortune.  He thanked hisfather forhis former generous conduct; and he promisedhim thatif he fell on the field or survived ithe wouldact in amanner worthy of the name of George Osborne.

HisEnglish habitprideawkwardness perhapshadpreventedhim from saying more.  His father could notsee thekiss George had placed on the superscription ofhisletter.  Mr. Osborne dropped it with the bitterestdeadliestpang of balked affection and revenge.  His sonwas stillbeloved and unforgiven.

About twomonths afterwardshoweveras the youngladies ofthe family went to church with their fathertheyremarkedhow he took a different seat from that whichhe usuallyoccupied when he chose to attend divineworship;and that from his cushion oppositehe looked up atthe wallover their heads.  This caused the young womenlikewiseto gaze in the direction towards which theirfather'sgloomy eyes pointed:  and they saw an elaboratemonumentupon the wallwhere Britannia was representedweepingover an urnand a broken sword and acouchantlion indicated that the piece of sculpture hadbeenerected in honour of a deceased warrior.  Thesculptorsof those days had stocks of such funerealemblems inhand; as you may see still on the walls of St.Paul'swhich are covered with hundreds of thesebraggartheathen allegories.  There was a constant demandfor themduring the first fifteen years of the presentcentury.

Under thememorial in question were emblazoned thewell-knownand pompous Osborne arms; and theinscriptionsaidthat the monument was "Sacred to thememory ofGeorge OsborneJuniorEsq.late a Captainin hisMajesty's --th regiment of footwho fell on the18th ofJune1815aged 28 yearswhile fighting for hisking andcountry in the glorious victory of Waterloo.Dulce etdecorum est pro patria mori."

The sightof that stone agitated the nerves of thesisters somuchthat Miss Maria was compelled to leavethechurch.  The congregation made way respectfully forthosesobbing girls clothed in deep blackand pitied thestern oldfather seated opposite the memorial of the deadsoldier. "Will he forgive Mrs. George?" the girls said tothemselvesas soon as their ebullition of grief was over.Muchconversation passed too among the acquaintancesof theOsborne familywho knew of the rupture betweenthe sonand father caused by the former's marriageasto thechance of a reconciliation with the young widow.There werebets among the gentlemen both about RussellSquare andin the City.

If thesisters had any anxiety regarding the possiblerecognitionof Amelia as a daughter of the familyitwasincreased presentlyand towards the end of theautumnbytheir father's announcement that he was goingabroad. He did not say whitherbut they knew at oncethat hissteps would be turned towards Belgiumand wereaware thatGeorge's widow was still in Brussels.  Theyhad prettyaccurate news indeed of poor Amelia fromLadyDobbin and her daughters.  Our honest Captain hadbeenpromoted in consequence of the death of the secondMajor ofthe regiment on the field; and the brave O'Dowdwho haddistinguished himself greatly here as upon alloccasionswhere he had a chance to show his coolnessandvalourwas a Colonel and Companion of the Bath.

Very manyof the brave --thwho had sufferedseverelyupon both days of actionwere still at Brusselsin theautumnrecovering of their wounds.  The city wasa vastmilitary hospital for months after the great battles;and as menand officers began to rally from their hurtsthegardens and places of public resort swarmed withmaimedwarriorsold and youngwhojust rescued out ofdeathfell to gamblingand gaietyand love-makingaspeople ofVanity Fair will do.  Mr. Osborne found outsome ofthe --th easily.  He knew their uniform quitewellandhad been used to follow all the promotions andexchangesin the regimentand loved to talk about it anditsofficers as if he had been one of the number.  On theday afterhis arrival at Brusselsand as he issued fromhis hotelwhich faced the parkhe saw a soldier in thewell-knownfacingsreposing on a stone bench in thegardenand went and sate down trembling by thewoundedconvalescent man.

"Wereyou in Captain Osborne's company?" he saidand addedafter a pause"he was my sonsir."

The manwas not of the Captain's companybut helifted uphis unwounded arm and touched-his cap sadlyandrespectfully to the haggard broken-spirited gentlemanwhoquestioned him.  "The whole army didn't containa finer ora better officer" the soldier said.  "The Sergeantof theCaptain's company (Captain Raymond had itnow)wasin townthoughand was just well of a shotin theshoulder.  His honour might see him if he likedwho couldtell him anything he wanted to know about--about the--th's actions.  But his honour had seenMajorDobbinno doubtthe brave Captain's greatfriend;and Mrs. Osbornewho was here tooand hadbeen verybadhe heard everybody say.  They say shewas out ofher mind like for six weeks or more.  But yourhonourknows all about that--and asking your pardon"--the manadded.

Osborneput a guinea into the soldier's handand toldhim heshould have another if he would bring the Sergeantto theHotel du Parc; a promise which very soonbroughtthe desired officer to Mr. Osborne's presence.And thefirst soldier went away; and after telling acomrade ortwo how Captain Osborne's father was arrivedand what afree-handed generous gentleman he wastheywent andmade good cheer with drink and feastingaslong asthe guineas lasted which had come from theproudpurse of the mourning old father.

In theSergeant's companywho was also just convalescentOsbornemade the journey of Waterloo andQuatreBrasa journey which thousands of his countrymenwere thentaking.  He took the Sergeant with him inhiscarriageand went through both fields under hisguidance. He saw the point of the road where the regimentmarchedinto action on the 16thand the slope downwhich theydrove the French cavalry who were pressingon theretreating Belgians.  There was the spot where thenobleCaptain cut down the French officer who wasgrapplingwith the young Ensign for the colourstheColour-Sergeantshaving been shot down.  Along this roadtheyretreated on the next dayand here was the bankat whichthe regiment bivouacked under the rain of thenight ofthe seventeenth.  Further on was the positionwhich theytook and held during the dayforming timeafter timeto receive the charge of the enemy's horsemenand lyingdown under the shelter of the bank from thefuriousFrench cannonade.  And it was at this declivitywhen atevening the whole English line received the ordertoadvanceas the enemy fell back after his last chargethat theCaptainhurraying and rushing down the hillwaving hisswordreceived a shot and fell dead.  "It wasMajorDobbin who took back the Captain's body toBrussels"the Sergeant saidin a low voice"and had himburiedasyour honour knows." The peasants and relic-huntersabout the place were screaming round the pairas thesoldier told his storyoffering for sale all sorts ofmementoesof the fightcrossesand epauletsandshatteredcuirassesand eagles.

Osbornegave a sumptuous reward to the Sergeantwhen heparted with himafter having visited the scenesof hisson's last exploits.  His burial-place he had alreadyseen. Indeedhe had driven thither immediately after hisarrival atBrussels.  George's body lay in the pretty burial-ground ofLaekennear the city; in which placehavingoncevisited it on a party of pleasurehe had lightlyexpresseda wish to have his grave made.  And there theyoungofficer was laid by his friendin the unconsecratedcorner ofthe gardenseparated by a little hedge fromthetemples and towers and plantations of flowers andshrubsunder which the Roman Catholic dead repose.  Itseemed ahumiliation to old Osborne to think that hissonanEnglish gentlemana captain in the famous Britisharmyshould not be found worthy to lie in ground wheremereforeigners were buried.  Which of us is there cantell howmuch vanity lurks in our warmest regard forothersand how selfish our love is? Old Osborne didnotspeculate much upon the mingled nature of his feelingsand howhis instinct and selfishness were combatingtogether. He firmly believed that everything he did wasrightthat he ought on all occasions to have his own way--and likethe sting of a wasp or serpent his hatredrushed outarmed and poisonous against anything likeopposition. He was proud of his hatred as of everythingelse. Always to be rightalways to trample forwardandnever todoubtare not these the great qualities withwhichdullness takes the lead in the world?

As afterthe drive to WaterlooMr. Osborne's carriagewasnearing the gates of the city at sunsetthey metanotheropen barouchein which were a couple of ladiesand agentlemanand by the side of which an officer wasriding. Osborne gave a start backand the Sergeantseatedwith himcast a look of surprise at his neighbouras hetouched his cap to the officerwho mechanicallyreturnedhis salute.  It was Ameliawith the lame youngEnsign byher sideand opposite to her her faithfulfriendMrs. O'Dowd.  It was Ameliabut how changedfrom thefresh and comely girl Osborne knew.  Her facewas whiteand thin.  Her pretty brown hair was partedunder awidow's cap--the poor child.  Her eyes werefixedandlooking nowhere.  They stared blank in theface ofOsborneas the carriages crossed each otherbutshe didnot know him; nor did he recognise heruntillookinguphe saw Dobbin riding by her:  and then heknew whoit was.  He hated her.  He did not know howmuch untilhe saw her there.  When her carriage hadpassed onhe turned and stared at the Sergeantwith acurse anddefiance in his eye cast at his companionwhocould nothelp looking at him--as much as to say "Howdare youlook at me? Damn you!  I do hate her.  It is shewho hastumbled my hopes and all my pride down.""Tellthe scoundrel to drive on quick" he shouted withan oathto the lackey on the box.  A minute afterwardsahorse cameclattering over the pavement behindOsborne'scarriageand Dobbin rode up.  His thoughtshad beenelsewhere as the carriages passed each otherand it wasnot until he had ridden some paces forwardthat heremembered it was Osborne who had just passedhim. Then he turned to examine if the sight of her father-in-law hadmade any impression on Ameliabut the poorgirl didnot know who had passed.  Then Williamwhodaily usedto accompany her in his drivestaking out hiswatchmade some excuse about an engagement which hesuddenlyrecollectedand so rode off.  She did notremarkthat either:  but sate looking before herover thehomelylandscape towards the woods in the distancebywhichGeorge marched away.

Mr.OsborneMr. Osborne!" cried Dobbinas he rodeup andheld out his hand.  Osborne made no motion totake itbut shouted out once more and with another curseto hisservant to drive on.

Dobbinlaid his hand on the carriage side.  "I will seeyousir"he said.  "I have a message for you."

"Fromthat woman?" said Osbornefiercely.

"No"replied the other"from your son"; at whichOsbornefell back into the corner of his carriageandDobbinallowing it to pass onrode close behind itandso throughthe town until they reached Mr. Osborne'shotelandwithout a word.  There he followed Osborneup to hisapartments.  George had often been in therooms;they were the lodgings which the Crawleys hadoccupiedduring their stay in Brussels.

"Prayhave you any commands for meCaptainDobbinorI beg your pardonI should say MAJOR Dobbinsincebetter men than you are deadand you step intotheirSHOES?" said Mr. Osbornein that sarcastic tonewhich hesometimes was pleased to assume.

"Bettermen ARE dead" Dobbin replied.  "I want tospeak toyou about one."

"Makeit shortsir" said the other with an oathscowlingat his visitor.

"I amhere as his closest friend" the Major resumed"andthe executor of his will.  He made it before he wentintoaction.  Are you aware how small his means areand of thestraitened circumstances of his widow?"

"Idon't know his widowsir" Osborne said.  "Let hergo back toher father." But the gentleman whom headdressedwas determined to remain in good temperandwent onwithout heeding the interruption.

"Doyou knowsirMrs. Osborne's condition? Her lifeand herreason almost have been shaken by the blowwhich hasfallen on her.  It is very doubtful whether shewillrally.  There is a chance left for herhoweverand itis aboutthis I came to speak to you.  She will be a mothersoon. Will you visit the parent's offence upon the child'shead? orwill you forgive the child for poor George'ssake?"

Osbornebroke out into a rhapsody of self-praise andimprecations;--bythe firstexcusing himself to his ownconsciencefor his conduct; by the secondexaggeratingtheundutifulness of George.  No father in all Englandcould havebehaved more generously to a sonwho hadrebelledagainst him wickedly.  He had died without evenso much asconfessing he was wrong.  Let him taketheconsequences of his undutifulness and folly.  As forhimselfMr. Osbornehe was a man of his word.  Hehad swornnever to speak to that womanor to recognizeher as hisson's wife.  "And that's what you may tellher"he concluded with an oath; "and that's what I willstick toto the last day of my life."

There wasno hope from that quarter then.  The widowmust liveon her slender pittanceor on such aid as Joscould giveher.  "I might tell herand she would not heedit"thought Dobbinsadly:  for the poor girl's thoughtswere nothere at all since her catastropheandstupefiedunder thepressure of her sorrowgood and evil werealikeindifferent to her.

Soindeedwere even friendship and kindness.  Shereceivedthem both uncomplaininglyand having acceptedthemrelapsed into her grief.

Supposesome twelve months after the above conversationtook placeto have passed in the life of our poorAmelia. She has spent the first portion of that time in asorrow soprofound and pitiablethat we who have beenwatchingand describing some of the emotions of thatweak andtender heartmust draw back in the presenceof thecruel grief under which it is bleeding.  Tread silentlyround thehapless couch of the poor prostrate soul.Shutgently the door of the dark chamber wherein shesuffersas those kind people did who nursed her throughthe firstmonths of her painand never left her untilheaven hadsent her consolation.  A day came--ofalmostterrified delight and wonder--when the poorwidowedgirl pressed a child upon her breast--a childwiththe eyesof George who was gone--a little boyas beautifulas acherub.  What a miracle it was to hear its firstcry! How she laughed and wept over it--how loveandhopeandprayer woke again in her bosom as the babynestledthere.  She was safe.  The doctors who attendedherandhad feared for her life or for her brainhadwaitedanxiously for this crisis before they couldpronouncethat either was secure.  It was worth the longmonths ofdoubt and dread which the persons who hadconstantlybeen with her had passedto see her eyes oncemorebeaming tenderly upon them.

Our friendDobbin was one of them.  It was he whobroughther back to England and to her mother's house;when Mrs.O'Dowdreceiving a peremptory summonsfrom herColonelhad been forced to quit her patient.To seeDobbin holding the infantand to hear Amelia'slaugh oftriumph as she watched himwould have doneany mangood who had a sense of humour.  William wasthegodfather of the childand exerted his ingenuity inthepurchase of cupsspoonspap-boatsand corals forthislittle Christian.

How hismother nursed himand dressed himandlived uponhim; how she drove away all nursesandwouldscarce allow any hand but her own to touch him;how sheconsidered that the greatest favour she couldconferupon his godfatherMajor Dobbinwas to allowthe Majoroccasionally to dandle himneed not be toldhere. This child was her being.  Her existence was amaternalcaress.  She enveloped the feeble and unconsciouscreaturewith love and worship.  It was her lifewhich thebaby drank in from her bosom.  Of nightsandwhenaloneshe had stealthy and intense raptures ofmotherlylovesuch as God's marvellous care has awardedto thefemale instinct--joys how far higher and lowerthanreason--blind beautiful devotions which only women'sheartsknow.  It was William Dobbin's task to museupon thesemovements of Amelia'sand to watch herheart; andif his love made him divine almost all the feelingswhichagitated italas! he could see with a fatalperspicuitythat there was no place there for him.  Andsogentlyhe bore his fateknowing itand content tobear it.

I supposeAmelia's father and mother saw through theintentionsof the Majorand were not ill-disposed toencouragehim; for Dobbin visited their house dailyandstayed forhours with themor with Ameliaor with thehonestlandlordMr. Clappand his family.  He broughton onepretext or anotherpresents to everybodyandalmostevery day; and wentwith the landlord's little girlwho wasrather a favourite with Ameliaby the name ofMajorSugarplums.  It was this little child who commonlyacted asmistress of the ceremonies to introduce himto Mrs.Osborne.  She laughed one day when Major Sugarplums'cab droveup to Fulhamand he descended fromitbringing out a wooden horsea druma trumpetandotherwarlike toysfor little Georgywho was scarcelysix monthsoldand for whom the articles in question wereentirelypremature.

The childwas asleep.  "Hush" said Ameliaannoyedperhapsat the creaking of the Major's boots; and sheheld outher hand; smiling because William could nottake ituntil he had rid himself of his cargo of toys.  "Godownstairslittle Mary" said he presently to the child"Iwant to speak to Mrs. Osborne." She looked up ratherastonishedand laid down the infant on its bed.

"I amcome to say good-byeAmelia" said hetakingherslender little white hand gently.

"Good-bye?and where are you going?" she saidwitha smile.

"Sendthe letters to the agents" he said; "they willforwardthem; for you will write to mewon't you? Ishall beaway a long time."

"I'llwrite to you about Georgy" she said.  "Dear' Williamhow goodyou have been to him and to me.  Look athim. Isn't he like an angel?"

The littlepink hands of the child closed mechanicallyround thehonest soldier's fingerand Amelia looked upin hisface with bright maternal pleasure.  The cruellestlookscould not have wounded him more than that glanceofhopeless kindness.  He bent over the child and mother.He couldnot speak for a moment.  And it was only withall hisstrength that he could force himself to say a Godblessyou.  "God bless you" said Ameliaand held up herface andkissed him.

"Hush! Don't wake Georgy!" she addedas WilliamDobbinwent to the door with heavy steps.  She did nothear thenoise of his cab-wheels as he drove away:  shewaslooking at the childwho was laughing in his sleep.

CHAPTERXXXVIHow toLive Well on Nothing a Year

I supposethere is no man in this Vanity Fair of ours solittleobservant as not to think sometimes about theworldlyaffairs of his acquaintancesor so extremelycharitableas not to wonder how his neighbour Jonesor hisneighbour Smithcan make both ends meet at theend of theyear.  With the utmost regard for the familyforinstance (for I dine with them twice or thrice in theseason)Icannot but own that the appearance of theJenkinsesin the parkin the large barouche with thegrenadier-footmenwill surprise and mystify me to mydyingday:  for though I know the equipage is onlyjobbedand all the Jenkins people are on board wagesyet thosethree men and the carriage must represent anexpense ofsix hundred a year at the very least--and thenthere arethe splendid dinnersthe two boys at Etontheprizegoverness and masters for the girlsthe tripabroadorto Eastbourne or Worthingin the autumnthe annualball with a supper from Gunter's (whoby thewaysupplies most of the first-rate dinners which J.  givesas I knowvery wellhaving been invited to one of them tofill avacant placewhen I saw at once that these repasts areverysuperior to the common run of entertainments for which thehumblersort of J.'s acquaintances get cards)--whoI saywith themostgood-natured feelings in the worldcan help wondering howtheJenkinses make out matters? What is Jenkins? We all know--Commissionerof the Tape and Sealing Wax Officewith1200pounds a year for a salary.  Had his wife a privatefortune?Pooh!--Miss Flint--one of eleven children of asmallsquire in Buckinghamshire.  All she ever gets fromher familyis a turkey at Christmasin exchange for whichshe has toboard two or three of her sisters in the offseasonand lodge and feed her brothers when theycome totown.  How does Jenkins balance his income? Isayasevery friend of his must sayHow is it that hehas notbeen outlawed long sinceand that he ever cameback (ashe did to the surprise of everybody) last yearfromBoulogne?

"I"is here introduced to personify the world ingeneral--theMrs. Grundy of each respected reader's privatecircle--everyone of whom can point to some familiesof hisacquaintance who live nobody knows how.  Manya glass ofwine have we all of us drunkI have verylittledoubthob-and-nobbing with the hospitable giverandwondering how the deuce he paid for it.

Some threeor four years after his stay in PariswhenRawdonCrawley and his wife were established in a verysmallcomfortable house in Curzon StreetMay Fairtherewasscarcely one of the numerous friends whom theyentertainedat dinner that did not ask the above questionregardingthem.  The novelistit has been said beforeknowseverythingand as I am in a situation to beable totell the public how Crawley and his wife livedwithoutany incomemay I entreat the public newspaperswhich arein the habit of extracting portions of thevariousperiodical works now published not to reprintthefollowing exact narrative and calculations--of whichI oughtas the discoverer (and at some expensetoo)to havethe benefit? My sonI would saywere I blessedwith achild--you may by deep inquiry and constantintercoursewith him learn how a man lives comfortablyon nothinga year.  But it is best not to be intimate withgentlemenof this profession and to take the calculationsat secondhandas you do logarithmsfor to workthemyourselfdepend upon itwill cost you somethingconsiderable.

On nothingper annum thenand during a course ofsome twoor three yearsof which we can afford togive but avery brief historyCrawley and his wife livedveryhappily and comfortably at Paris.  It was in thisperiodthat he quitted the Guards and sold out of thearmy. When we find him againhis mustachios and thetitle ofColonel on his card are the only relics of hismilitaryprofession.

It hasbeen mentioned that Rebeccasoon after herarrival inParistook a very smart and leading position inthesociety of that capitaland was welcomed at someof themost distinguished houses of the restored Frenchnobility. The English men of fashion in Paris courted hertootothe disgust of the ladies their wiveswho couldnot bearthe parvenue.  For some months the salonsof theFaubourg St.  Germainin which her place wassecuredand the splendours of the new Courtwhere shewasreceived with much distinctiondelighted andperhaps alittle intoxicated Mrs. Crawleywho may havebeendisposed during this period of elation to slight thepeople--honestyoung military men mostly--who formedherhusband's chief society.

But theColonel yawned sadly among the Duchessesand greatladies of the Court.  The old women whoplayedecarte made such a noise about a five-francpiece thatit was not worth Colonel Crawley's while tosit downat a card-table.  The wit of their conversation hecould notappreciatebeing ignorant of their language.And whatgood could his wife gethe urgedby makingcurtsiesevery night to a whole circle of Princesses? HeleftRebecca presently to frequent these parties aloneresuminghis own simple pursuits and amusementsamongstthe amiable friends of his own choice.

The truthiswhen we say of a gentleman that heliveselegantly on nothing a yearwe use the word"nothing"to signify something unknown; meaningsimplythat wedon't know how the gentleman in question defraystheexpenses of his establishment.  Nowour friend theColonelhad a great aptitude for all games of chance:andexercising himselfas he continually didwith thecardsthedice-boxor the cueit is natural to supposethat heattained a much greater skill in the use of thesearticlesthan men can possess who only occasionallyhandlethem.  To use a cue at billiards well is like using apencilora German fluteor a small-sword--you cannotmaster anyone of these implements at firstand it is onlybyrepeated study and perseverancejoined to a naturaltastethat a man can excel in the handling of either.NowCrawleyfrom being only a brilliant amateurhadgrown tobe a consummate master of billiards.  Like agreatGeneralhis genius used to rise with the dangerand whenthe luck had been unfavourable to him for awholegameand the bets were consequently against himhe wouldwith consummate skill and boldnessmakesomeprodigious hits which would restore the battleandcome in avictor at the endto the astonishment ofeverybody--ofeverybodythat iswho was a stranger to hisplay. Those who were accustomed to see it were cautioushow theystaked their money against a man of suchsuddenresources and brilliant and overpowering skill.

At gamesof cards he was equally skilful; for thoughhe wouldconstantly lose money at the commencementof aneveningplaying so carelessly and making suchblundersthat newcomers were often inclined to thinkmeanly ofhis talent; yet when roused to action andawakenedto caution by repeated small lossesit wasremarkedthat Crawley's play became quite differentandthat hewas pretty sure of beating his enemy thoroughlybefore thenight was over.  Indeedvery few men couldsay thatthey ever had the better of him.Hissuccesses were so repeated that no wonder theenviousand the vanquished spoke sometimes withbitternessregarding them.  And as the French say of theDuke ofWellingtonwho never suffered a defeatthatonly anastonishing series of lucky accidents enabled himto be aninvariable winner; yet even they allow that hecheated atWaterlooand was enabled to win the lastgreattrick:  so it was hinted at headquarters in Englandthat somefoul play must have taken place in order toaccountfor the continuous successes of Colonel Crawley.

ThoughFrascati's and the Salon were open at that timein Paristhe mania for play was so widely spread thatthe publicgambling-rooms did not suffice for the generalardourand gambling went on in private houses asmuch as ifthere had been no public means for gratifyingthepassion.  At Crawley's charming little reunions of aneveningthis fatal amusement commonly was practised--much togood-natured little Mrs. Crawley's annoyance.She spokeabout her husband's passion for dice with thedeepestgrief; she bewailed it to everybody who came toherhouse.  She besought the young fellows neverneverto touch abox; and when young Greenof the Rifleslost avery considerable sum of moneyRebecca passed awholenight in tearsas the servant told the unfortunateyounggentlemanand actually went on her knees to herhusband tobeseech him to remit the debtand burn theacknowledgement. How could he? He had lost just asmuchhimself to Blackstone of the Hussarsand CountPunter ofthe Hanoverian Cavalry.  Green might have anydecenttime; but pay?--of course he must pay; to talkof burningIOU's was child's play.

Otherofficerschiefly young--for the young fellowsgatheredround Mrs. Crawley--came from her partieswith longfaceshaving dropped more or less money ather fatalcard-tables.  Her house began to have anunfortunatereputation.  The old hands warned the lessexperiencedof their danger.  Colonel O'Dowdof the --thregimentone of those occupying in PariswarnedLieutenantSpooney of that corps.  A loud and violent fracastook placebetween the infantry Colonel and his ladywho weredining at the Cafe de Parisand Colonel andMrs.Crawley; who were also taking their meal there.The ladiesengaged on both sides.  Mrs. O'Dowd snappedherfingers in Mrs. Crawley's face and called herhusband"no betther than a black-leg." Colonel CrawleychallengedColonel O'DowdC.B.  The Commander-in-Chiefhearing ofthe dispute sent for Colonel Crawleywho wasgettingready the same pistols "which he shot CaptainMarker"and had such a conversation with him that noduel tookplace.  If Rebecca had not gone on her kneesto GeneralTuftoCrawley would have been sent backtoEngland; and he did not playexcept with civiliansfor someweeks after.

Butinspite of Rawdon's undoubted skill and constantsuccessesit became evident to Rebeccaconsideringthesethingsthat their position was but a precariousoneandthateven although they paid scarcely anybodytheirlittle capital would end one day by dwindling intozero. "Gambling" she would say"dearis good to helpyourincomebut not as an income itself.  Some daypeople maybe tired of playand then where are we?"Rawdonacquiesced in the justice of her opinion; and intruth hehad remarked that after a few nights of hislittlesuppers&c.gentlemen were tired of play with himandinspite of Rebecca's charmsdid not presentthemselvesvery eagerly.

Easy andpleasant as their life at Paris wasit wasafter allonly an idle dalliance and amiable trifling; andRebeccasaw that she must push Rawdon's fortune intheir owncountry.  She must get him a place or appointmentat home orin the coloniesand she determined tomake amove upon England as soon as the way could beclearedfor her.  As a first step she had made Crawleysell outof the Guards and go on half-pay.  His functionasaide-de-camp to General Tufto had ceased previously.Rebeccalaughed in all companies at that officerat histoupee(which he mounted on coming to Paris)at hiswaistbandat his false teethat his pretensions to be alady-killerabove alland his absurd vanity in fancyingeverywoman whom he came near was in love withhim. It was to Mrs. Brentthe beetle-browed wife ofMr.Commissary Brentto whom the general transferredhisattentions now--his bouquetshis dinners at therestaurateurs'his opera-boxesand his knick-knacks.  PoorMrs. Tuftowas no more happy than beforeand had stillto passlong evenings alone with her daughtersknowingthat herGeneral was gone off scented and curled tostandbehind Mrs. Brent's chair at the play.  Becky had adozenadmirers in his placeto be sureand could cuther rivalto pieces with her wit.  Butas we have saidshe.wasgrowing tired of this idle social life:  opera-boxes andrestaurateurdinners palled upon her:  nosegays could notbe laid byas a provision for future years:  and she couldnot liveupon knick-knackslaced handkerchiefsand kidgloves. She felt the frivolity of pleasure and longed formoresubstantial benefits.

At thisjuncture news arrived which was spread amongthe manycreditors of the Colonel at Parisand whichcausedthem great satisfaction.  Miss Crawleythe richaunt fromwhom he expected his immense inheritancewas dying;the Colonel must haste to her bedside.  Mrs.Crawleyand her child would remain behind until hecame toreclaim them.  He departed for Calaisand havingreachedthat place in safetyit might have beensupposedthat he went to Dover; but instead he took thediligenceto Dunkirkand thence travelled to Brusselsfor whichplace he had a former predilection.  The factisheowed more money at London than at Paris; and hepreferredthe quiet little Belgian city to either of the morenoisycapitals.

Her auntwas dead.  Mrs. Crawley ordered the mostintensemourning for herself and little Rawdon.  The Colonelwas busyarranging the affairs of the inheritance.  Theycould takethe premier nowinstead of the little entresolof thehotel which they occupied.  Mrs. Crawley and thelandlordhad a consultation about the new hangingsanamicable wrangle about the carpetsand a final adjustmentofeverything except the bill.  She went off in oneof hiscarriages; her French bonne with her; the childby herside; the admirable landlord and landlady smilingfarewellto her from the gate.  General Tufto was furiouswhen heheard she was goneand Mrs. Brent furiouswith himfor being furious; Lieutenant Spooney was cutto theheart; and the landlord got ready his best apartmentspreviousto the return of the fascinating littlewoman andher husband.  He serred the trunks whichshe leftin his charge with the greatest care.  They had beenespeciallyrecommended to him by Madame Crawley.  Theywere nothoweverfound to be particularly valuablewhenopened some time after.

But beforeshe went to join her husband in the BelgiccapitalMrs. Crawley made an expedition into Englandleavingbehind her her little son upon the continentunder thecare of her French maid.

Theparting between Rebecca and the little Rawdon didnot causeeither party much pain.  She had notto saytruthseen much of the young gentleman since his birth.After theamiable fashion of French mothersshe hadplaced himout at nurse in a village in the neighbourhoodof Pariswhere little Rawdon passed the first months ofhis lifenot unhappilywith a numerous family offoster-brothersin wooden shoes.  His father would ride overmany atime to see him hereand the elder Rawdon'spaternalheart glowed to see him rosy and dirtyshoutinglustilyand happy in the making of mud-piesunder thesuperintendence of the gardener's wifehisnurse.

Rebeccadid not care much to go and see the sonand heir. Once he spoiled a new dove-coloured pelisseof hers. He preferred his nurse's caresses to his mamma'sand whenfinally he quitted that jolly nurse and almostparenthecried loudly for hours.  He was only consoledby hismother's promise that he should return to his nursethe nextday; indeed the nurse herselfwho probablywould havebeen pained at the parting toowas told thatthe childwould immediately be restored to herand forsome timeawaited quite anxiously his return.

In factour friends may be said to have been amongthe firstof that brood of hardy English adventurers whohavesubsequently invaded the Continent and swindledin all thecapitals of Europe.  The respect in those happydays of1817-18 was very great for the wealth andhonour ofBritons.  They had not then learnedas I amtoldtohaggle for bargains with the pertinacity whichnowdistinguishes them.  The great cities of Europe hadnot beenas yet open to the enterprise of our rascals.Andwhereas there is now hardly a town of France orItaly inwhich you shall not see some noble countrymanof ourownwith that happy swagger and insolenceofdemeanour which we carry everywhereswindlinginn-landlordspassing fictitious cheques upon credulousbankersrobbing coach-makers of their carriagesgoldsmithsof theirtrinketseasy travellers of their money at cardsevenpublic libraries of their books--thirty years ago youneeded butto be a Milor Anglaistravelling in a privatecarriageand credit was at your hand wherever you choseto seekitand gentlemeninstead of cheatingwerecheated. It was not for some weeks after the Crawleys'departurethat the landlord of the hotel which theyoccupiedduring their residence at Paris found out the losseswhich hehad sustained:  not until Madame Marabouthemillinermade repeated visits with her little bill forarticlessupplied to Madame Crawley; not until MonsieurDidelotfrom Boule d'Or in the Palais Royal had askedhalf adozen times whether cette charmante Miladi whohad boughtwatches and bracelets of him was de retour.It is afact that even the poor gardener's wifewhohad nursedmadame's childwas never paid after thefirst sixmonths for that supply of the milk of humankindnesswith which she had furnished the lusty andhealthylittle Rawdon.  Nonot even the nurse was paid--theCrawleys were in too great a hurry to remembertheirtrifling debt to her.  As for the landlord of the hotelhis cursesagainst the English nation were violent for therest ofhis natural life.  He asked all travellers whetherthey knewa certain Colonel Lor Crawley--avec safemme unepetite dametres spirituelle.  "AhMonsieur!"he would add--"ils m'ont affreusement vole." Itwasmelancholy to hear his accents as he spoke of thatcatastrophe.

Rebecca'sobject in her journey to London was toeffect akind of compromise with her husband's numerouscreditorsand by offering them a dividend of ninepenceor ashilling in the poundto secure a return for him intohis owncountry.  It does not become us to trace the stepswhich shetook in the conduct of this most difficultnegotiation;buthaving shown them to their satisfactionthat thesum which she was empowered to offer was allherhusband's available capitaland having convincedthem thatColonel Crawley would prefer a perpetualretirementon the Continent to a residence in this countrywith hisdebts unsettled; having proved to them that therewas nopossibility of money accruing to him from otherquartersand no earthly chance of their getting a largerdividendthan that which she was empowered to offershebrought the Colonel's creditors unanimously toaccept herproposalsand purchased with fifteen hundredpounds ofready money more than ten times that amountof debts.

Mrs.Crawley employed no lawyer in the transaction.The matterwas so simpleto have or to leaveas shejustlyobservedthat she made the lawyers of thecreditorsthemselves do the business.  And Mr. LewisrepresentingMr. Davidsof Red Lion Squareand Mr. Mossacting forMr. Manasseh of Cursitor Street (chiefcreditorsof the Colonel's)complimented his lady upon thebrilliantway in which she did businessand declaredthat therewas no professional man who could beat her.

Rebeccareceived their congratulations with perfectmodesty;ordered a bottle of sherry and a bread caketo thelittle dingy lodgings where she dweltwhileconductingthe businessto treat the enemy's lawyers:shookhands with them at partingin excellent goodhumourand returned straightway to the Continenttorejoin herhusband and son and acquaint the formerwith theglad news of his entire liberation.  As for thelatterhehad been considerably neglected during hismother'sabsence by Mademoiselle Genevieveher Frenchmaid; forthat young womancontracting an attachmentfor asoldier in the garrison of Calaisforgot her chargein thesociety of this militaireand little Rawdon verynarrowlyescaped drowning on Calais sands at thisperiodwhere the absent Genevieve had left and losthim.

And soColonel and Mrs. Crawley came to London:and it isat their house in Curzon StreetMay Fairthattheyreally showed the skill which must be possessed bythose whowould live on the resources above named.

CHAPTERXXXVIITheSubject Continued

In thefirst placeand as a matter of the greatestnecessitywe are bound to describe how a housemay be gotfor nothing a year.  These mansionsare to behad either unfurnishedwhereif youhavecredit with Messrs.  Gillows or Bantingsyoucan getthem splendidly montees and decoratedentirelyaccording to your own fancy; or they areto be letfurnisheda less troublesome andcomplicatedarrangement to most parties.  It was sothatCrawley and his wife preferred to hire their house.

Before Mr.Bowls came to preside over Miss Crawley'shouse andcellar in Park Lanethat lady had hadfor abutler a Mr. Raggleswho was born on the familyestate ofQueen's Crawleyand indeed was a youngerson of agardener there.  By good conducta handsomeperson andcalvesand a grave demeanourRaggles rosefrom theknife-board to the footboard of the carriage;from thefootboard to the butler's pantry.  When he hadbeen acertain number of years at the head of MissCrawley'sestablishmentwhere he had had good wagesfatperquisitesand plenty of opportunities of savingheannouncedthat he was about to contract a matrimonialalliancewith a late cook of Miss Crawley'swho hadsubsistedin an honourable manner by the exercise of amangleand the keeping of a small greengrocer's shop intheneighbourhood.  The truth isthat the ceremony hadbeenclandestinely performed some years back; althoughthe newsof Mr. Raggles' marriage was first brought toMissCrawley by a little boy and girl of seven and eightyears ofagewhose continual presence in the kitchenhadattracted the attention of Miss Briggs.

Mr.Raggles then retired and personally undertook thesuperintendenceof the small shop and the greens.  Headded milkand creameggs and country-fed pork to hisstorescontenting himself whilst other retired butlerswerevending spirits in public housesby dealing in thesimplestcountry produce.  And having a good connectionamongstthe butlers in the neighbourhoodand asnug backparlour where he and Mrs. Raggles receivedthemhismilkcreamand eggs got to be adopted bymany ofthe fraternityand his profits increased everyyear. Year after year he quietly and modestly amassedmoneyandwhen at length that snug and complete bachelor'sresidenceat No.  201Curzon StreetMay Fairlatelytheresidence of the Honourable Frederick Deuceacegoneabroadwith its rich and appropriate furniture bythe firstmakerswas brought to the hammerwho shouldgo in andpurchase the lease and furniture of the housebutCharles Raggles? A part of the money he borroweditis trueand at rather a high interestfrom a brotherbutlerbut the chief part he paid downand it was withno smallpride that Mrs. Raggles found herself sleeping ina bed ofcarved mahoganywith silk curtainswith aprodigiouscheval glass opposite to herand a wardrobewhichwould contain herand Ragglesand all the family.

Of coursethey did not intend to occupy permanentlyanapartment so splendid.  It was in order to let the houseagain thatRaggles purchased it.  As soon as a tenantwas foundhe subsided into the greengrocer's shop oncemore; buta happy thing it was for him to walk out ofthattenement and into Curzon Streetand there surveyhishouse--his own house--with geraniums in thewindow anda carved bronze knocker.  The footmanoccasionallylounging at the area railingtreated him withrespect;the cook took her green stuff at his house andcalled himMr. Landlordand there was not one thingthetenants didor one dish which they had for dinnerthatRaggles might not know ofif he liked.

He was agood man; good and happy.  The housebroughthim in so handsome a yearly income that he wasdeterminedto send his children to good schoolsandaccordinglyregardless of expenseCharles was sent toboardingat Dr. Swishtail'sSugar-cane LodgeandlittleMatilda to Miss Peckover'sLaurentinum HouseClapham.

Ragglesloved and adored the Crawley family as theauthor ofall his prosperity in life.  He had a silhouette ofhismistress in his back shopand a drawing of thePorter'sLodge at Queen's Crawleydone by that spinsterherself inIndia ink--and the only addition he made tothedecorations of the Curzon Street House was a printof Queen'sCrawley in Hampshirethe seat of Sir WalpoleCrawleyBaronetwho was represented in a gilded cardrawn bysix white horsesand passing by a lakecoveredwith swansand barges containing ladies in hoopsandmusicians with flags and penwigs.  Indeed Ragglesthoughtthere was no such palace in all the worldandno suchaugust family.

As luckwould have itRaggles' house in Curzon Streetwas to letwhen Rawdon and his wife returned to London.TheColonel knew it and its owner quite well; the latter'sconnectionwith the Crawley family had been kept upconstantlyfor Raggles helped Mr. Bowls whenever MissCrawleyreceived friends.  And the old man not only lethis houseto the Colonel but officiated as his butlerwheneverhe had company; Mrs. Raggles operating in thekitchenbelow and sending up dinners of which old MissCrawleyherself might have approved.  This was the waythenCrawley got his house for nothing; for thoughRaggleshad to pay taxes and ratesand the interest of themortgageto the brother butler; and the insurance of hislife; andthe charges for his children at school; and thevalue ofthe meat and drink which his own family--andfor a timethat of Colonel Crawley too--consumed; andthough thepoor wretch was utterly ruined by thetransactionhis children being flung on the streetsand himselfdriveninto the Fleet Prison:  yet somebody must pay evenforgentlemen who live for nothing a year--and so it wasthisunlucky Raggles was made the representative ofColonelCrawley's defective capital.

I wonderhow many families are driven to roguery andto ruin bygreat practitioners in Crawlers way?--howmany greatnoblemen rob their petty tradesmencondescendto swindle their poor retainers out of wretchedlittlesums and cheat for a few shillings? When we readthat anoble nobleman has left for the Continentor thatanothernoble nobleman has an execution in his house--and thatone or other owes six or seven millionsthedefeatseems glorious evenand we respect the victim inthevastness of his ruin.  But who pities a poor barber whocan't gethis money for powdering the footmen's heads;or a poorcarpenter who has ruined himself by fixing upornamentsand pavilions for my lady's dejeuner; or thepoor devilof a tailor whom the steward patronizesandwho haspledged all he is worthand moreto get theliveriesreadywhich my lord has done him the honourtobespeak? When the great house tumbles downthesemiserablewretches fall under it unnoticed:  as they say inthe oldlegendsbefore a man goes to the devil himselfhe sendsplenty of other souls thither.

Rawdon andhis wife generously gave their patronageto allsuch of Miss Crawley's tradesmen and purveyorsas choseto serve them.  Some were willingenoughespeciallythe poor ones.  It was wonderful to see thepertinacitywith which the washerwoman from Tootingbroughtthe cart every Saturdayand her bills week after week.Mr.Raggles himself had to supply the greengroceries.  Thebill forservants' porter at the Fortune of War publichouse is acuriosity in the chronicles of beer.  Everyservantalso was owed the greater part of his wagesandthus keptup perforce an interest in the house.  Nobody infact waspaid.  Not the blacksmith who opened the lock;nor theglazier who mended the pane; nor the jobber wholet thecarriage; nor the groom who drove it; nor thebutcherwho provided the leg of mutton; nor the coalswhichroasted it; nor the cook who basted it; nor theservantswho ate it:  and this I am given to understand is notunfrequentlythe way in which people live elegantly onnothing ayear.

In alittle town such things cannot be done withoutremark. We know there the quantity of milk ourneighbourtakes and espy the joint or the fowls which aregoing infor his dinner.  Soprobably200 and 202 in CurzonStreetmight know what was going on in the housebetweenthemthe servants communicating through thearea-railings;but Crawley and his wife and his friendsdid notknow 200 and 202.  When you came to 201 therewas ahearty welcomea kind smilea good dinneranda jollyshake of the hand from the host and hostess therejust forall the world as if they had been undisputedmasters ofthree or four thousand a year--and so they werenot inmoneybut in produce and labour--if they didnot payfor the muttonthey had it:  if they did not givebullion inexchange for their winehow should we know?Never wasbetter claret at any man's table than at honestRawdon's;dinners more gay and neatly served.   Hisdrawing-roomswere the prettiestlittlemodest salonsconceivable: they were decorated with the greatest tasteand athousand knick-knacks from Parisby Rebecca:and whenshe sat at her piano trilling songs with alightsomeheartthe stranger voted himself in a littleparadiseof domestic comfort and agreed thatif thehusbandwas rather stupidthe wife was charmingand thedinnersthe pleasantest in the world.

Rebecca'switclevernessand flippancy made her speedilythe voguein London among a certain class.  You sawdemurechariots at her doorout of which stepped verygreatpeople.  You beheld her carriage in the parksurroundedby dandies of note.  The little box in the thirdtier ofthe opera was crowded with heads constantlychanging;but it must be confessed that the ladies heldaloof fromherand that their doors were shut to ourlittleadventurer.

Withregard to the world of female fashion and itscustomsthe present writer of course can only speak atsecondhand.  A man can no more penetrate or under-standthose mysteries than he can know what the ladiestalk aboutwhen they go upstairs after dinner.  It is onlyby inquiryand perseverance that one sometimes getshints ofthose secrets; and by a similar diligence everyperson whotreads the Pall Mall pavement and frequentsthe clubsof this metropolis knowseither through hisownexperience or through some acquaintance with whomhe playsat billiards or shares the jointsomething aboutthegenteel world of Londonand howas there are men(such asRawdon Crawleywhose position we mentionedbefore)who cut a good figure to the eyes of the ignorantworld andto the apprentices in the parkwho beholdthemconsorting with the most notorious dandies thereso thereare ladieswho may be called men's womenbeingwelcomed entirely by all the gentlemen and cutorslighted by all their wives.  Mrs. Firebrace is of this sort;the ladywith the beautiful fair ringlets whom you seeevery dayin Hyde Parksurrounded by the greatest andmostfamous dandies of this empire.  Mrs. Rockwood isanotherwhose parties are announced laboriously in thefashionablenewspapers and with whom you see that allsorts ofambassadors and great noblemen dine; andmany moremight be mentioned had they to do with thehistory atpresent in hand.  But while simple folks whoare out ofthe worldor country people with a taste forthegenteelbehold these ladies in their seeming glory inpublicplacesor envy them from afar offpersons whoare betterinstructed could inform them that these enviedladieshave no more chance of establishing themselvesin"society" than the benighted squire's wife inSomersetshirewho reads of their doings in the Morning Post.Men livingabout London are aware of these awful truths.You hearhow pitilessly many ladies of seeming rank andwealth areexcluded from this "society." The franticeffortswhich they make to enter this circlethe meannessesto whichthey submitthe insults which they undergoarematters of wonder to those who take human orwomankindfor a study; and the pursuit of fashion underdifficultieswould be a fine theme for any very greatperson whohad the witthe leisureand the knowledge oftheEnglish language necessary for the compiling ofsuch ahistory.

Now thefew female acquaintances whom Mrs. Crawleyhad knownabroad not only declined to visit her whenshe cameto this side of the Channelbut cut her severelywhen theymet in public places.  It was curious to see howthe greatladies forgot herand no doubt not altogethera pleasantstudy to Rebecca.  When Lady Bareacres mether in thewaiting-room at the operashe gathered herdaughtersabout her as if they would be contaminatedby a touchof Beckyand retreating a step or twoplacedherself infront of themand stared at her little enemy.To stareBecky out of countenance required a severerglancethan even the frigid old Bareacres could shoot outof herdismal eyes.  When Lady de la Molewho had riddena score oftimes by Becky's side at Brusselsmet Mrs.Crawley'sopen carriage in Hyde Parkher Ladyship wasquiteblindand could not in the least recognize herformerfriend.  Even Mrs. Blenkinsopthe banker's wifecut her atchurch.  Becky went regularly to church now; itwasedifying to see her enter there with Rawdon by hersidecarrying a couple of large gilt prayer-booksandafterwardsgoing through the ceremony with the gravestresignation.

Rawdon atfirst felt very acutely the slights which werepassedupon his wifeand was inclined to be gloomy andsavage. He talked of calling out the husbands or brothersof everyone of the insolent women who did not pay aproperrespect to his wife; and it was only by the strongestcommandsand entreaties on her part that he wasbroughtinto keeping a decent behaviour.  "You can'tshoot meinto society" she said good-naturedly.  "Remembermy dearthat I was but a governessand youyoupoor sillyold manhave the worst reputation for debtanddiceandall sorts of wickedness.  We shall get quite asmanyfriends as we want by and byand in the meanwhileyou mustbe a good boy and obey your schoolmistress ineverythingshe tells you to do.  When we heard that youraunt hadleft almost everything to Pitt and his wifedoyouremember what a rage you were in? You wouldhave toldall Parisif I had not made you keep yourtemperand where would you have been now?--inprison atSte.  Pelagie for debtand not established inLondon ina handsome housewith every comfort aboutyou--youwere in such a fury you were ready to murderyourbrotheryou wicked Cain youand what goodwould havecome of remaining angry? All the rage in theworldwon't get us your aunt's money; and it is muchbetterthat we should be friends with your brother'sfamilythan enemiesas those foolish Butes are.  Whenyourfather diesQueen's Crawley will be a pleasant housefor youand me to pass the winter in.  If we are ruinedyou cancarve and take charge of the stableand I canbe agoverness to Lady Jane's children.  Ruined!fiddlede-dee! I will get you a good place before that; or Pittand hislittle boy will dieand we will be Sir Rawdon and mylady. While there is lifethere is hopemy dearand Iintend tomake a man of you yet.  Who sold your horses foryou? Whopaid your debts for you?" Rawdon was obligedto confessthat he owed all these benefits to his wifeandto trusthimself to her guidance for the future.

Indeedwhen Miss Crawley quitted the worldand thatmoney forwhich all her relatives had been fighting soeagerlywas finally left to PittBute Crawleywho foundthat onlyfive thousand pounds had been left to himinstead ofthe twenty upon which he calculatedwas insuch afury at his disappointment that he vented it insavageabuse upon his nephew; and the quarrel alwaysranklingbetween them ended in an utter breach ofintercourse. Rawdon Crawley's conducton the other handwho gotbut a hundred poundswas such as to astonishhisbrother and delight his sister-in-lawwho wasdisposedto look kindly upon all the members of herhusband'sfamily.  He wrote to his brother a very frankmanlygood-humouredletter from Paris.  He was awarehe saidthat byhis own marriage he had forfeited his aunt'sfavour;and though he did not disguise his disappointmentthat sheshould have been so entirely relentless towardshimhewas glad that the money was still kept in theirbranch ofthe familyand heartily congratulated his brotheron hisgood fortune.  He sent his affectionate remembrancesto hissisterand hoped to have her good-will forMrs.Rawdon; and the letter concluded with a postscriptto Pitt inthe latter lady's own handwriting.  Shetoobegged tojoin in her husband's congratulations.  She shouldeverremember Mr. Crawley's kindness to her in earlydays whenshe was a friendless orphanthe instructress ofhis littlesistersin whose welfare she still took thetenderestinterest.  She wished him every happiness in hismarriedlifeandasking his permission to offer herremembrancesto Lady Jane (of whose goodness all theworldinformed her)she hoped that one day she mightbe allowedto present her little boy to his uncle and auntand beggedto bespeak for him their good-will andprotection.

PittCrawley received this communication verygraciously--moregraciously than Miss Crawley had receivedsome ofRebecca's previous compositions in Rawdon'shandwriting;and as for Lady Janeshe was so charmedwith theletter that she expected her husband wouldinstantlydivide his aunt's legacy into two equal portionsand sendoff one-half to his brother at Paris.

To herLadyship's surprisehoweverPitt declined toaccommodatehis brother with a cheque for thirtythousandpounds.  But he made Rawdon a handsome offerof hishand whenever the latter should come to Englandand chooseto take it; andthanking Mrs. Crawley forher goodopinion of himself and Lady Janehe graciouslypronouncedhis willingness to take any opportunity toserve herlittle boy.

Thus analmost reconciliation was brought aboutbetweenthe brothers.  When Rebecca came to town Pittand hiswife were not in London.  Many a time she droveby the olddoor in Park Lane to see whether they hadtakenpossession of Miss Crawley's house there.  But thenew familydid not make its appearance; it was onlythroughRaggles that she heard of their movements--howMissCrawley's domestics had been dismissed with decentgratuitiesand how Mr. Pitt had only once made hisappearancein Londonwhen he stopped for a few daysat thehousedid business with his lawyers thereand soldoff allMiss Crawley's French novels to a bookseller outof BondStreet.  Becky had reasons of her own whichcaused herto long for the arrival of her new relation."WhenLady Jane comes" thought she"she shall be mysponsor inLondon society; and as for the women! bah!the womenwill ask me when they find the men want tosee me."

An articleas necessary to a lady in this position as herbroughamor her bouquet is her companion.  I havealwaysadmired the way in which the tender creatureswhocannotexist without sympathyhire an exceedingly plainfriend oftheir own sex from whom they are almostinseparable. The sight of that inevitable woman in herfaded gownseated behind her dear friend in the opera-boxoroccupying the back seat of the baroucheisalways awholesome and moral one to meas jolly areminderas that of the Death's-head which figured intherepasts of Egyptian bon-vivantsa strange sardonicmemorialof Vanity Fair.  What? even batteredbrazenbeautifulconsciencelessheartlessMrs. Firebracewhosefatherdied of her shame:  even lovelydaring Mrs.Mantrapwho will ride at any fence which any man inEnglandwill takeand who drives her greys in theparkwhile her mother keeps a huckster's stall in Bathstill--eventhose who are so boldone might fancythey couldface anything dare not face the world withouta femalefriend.  They must have somebody to cling totheaffectionatecreatures!  And you will hardly see them inany publicplace without a shabby companion in a dyedsilksitting somewhere in the shade close behind them.

"Rawdon"said Beckyvery late one nightas a partyofgentlemen were seated round her crackling drawing-room fire(for the men came to her house to finish thenight; andshe had ice and coffee for themthe best inLondon): "I must have a sheep-dog."

"Awhat?" said Rawdonlooking up from an ecartetable.

"Asheep-dog!" said young Lord Southdown.  "My dearMrs.Crawleywhat a fancy!  Why not have a Danishdog? Iknow of one as big as a camel-leopardby Jove.It wouldalmost pull your brougham.  Or a Persiangreyhoundeh? (I proposeif you please); or a little pugthat wouldgo into one of Lord Steyne's snuff-boxes?There's aman at Bayswater got one with such a nose thatyoumight--I mark the king and play--that you mighthang yourhat on it."

"Imark the trick" Rawdon gravely said.  He attendedto hisgame commonly and didn't much meddle withtheconversationexcept when it was about horses andbetting.

"WhatCAN you want with a shepherd's dog?" the livelylittleSouthdown continued.

"Imean a MORAL shepherd's dog" said Beckylaughingandlooking up at Lord Steyne.

"Whatthe devil's that?" said his Lordship.

"Adog to keep the wolves off me" Rebecca continued."Acompanion."

"Dearlittle innocent lambyou want one" said themarquis;and his jaw thrust outand he began to grinhideouslyhis little eyes leering towards Rebecca.

The greatLord of Steyne was standing by the firesippingcoffee.  The fire crackled and blazed pleasantlyThere wasa score of candles sparkling round the mantelpieceinall sorts of quaint sconcesof gilt and bronze andporcelain. They lighted up Rebecca's figure to admirationas she saton a sofa covered with a pattern of gaudyflowers. She was in a pink dress that looked as fresh asa rose;her dazzling white arms and shoulders were half-coveredwith a thin hazy scarf through which theysparkled;her hair hung in curls round her neck; one of herlittlefeet peeped out from the fresh crisp folds of thesilk: the prettiest little foot in the prettiest little sandalin thefinest silk stocking in the world.

Thecandles lighted up Lord Steyne's shining bald headwhich wasfringed with red hair.  He had thick bushyeyebrowswith little twinkling bloodshot eyessurroundedby athousand wrinkles.  His jaw was underhungandwhen helaughedtwo white buck-teeth protrudedthemselvesand glistened savagely in the midst of the grin.He hadbeen dining with royal personagesand worehis garterand ribbon.  A short man was his Lordshipbroad-chestedand bow-leggedbut proud of the finenessof hisfoot and ankleand always caressing his garter-knee.

"Andso the shepherd is not enough" said he"todefend hislambkin?"

"Theshepherd is too fond of playing at cards and goingto hisclubs" answered Beckylaughing.

"'Gadwhat a debauched Corydon!" said my lord--"whata mouth for a pipe!"

"Itake your three to two" here said Rawdonat thecard-table.

"Harkat Meliboeus" snarled the noble marquis; "he'spastorallyoccupied too:  he's shearing a Southdown.What aninnocent muttonhey? Dammewhat a snowyfleece!"

Rebecca'seyes shot out gleams of scornful humour."Mylord" she said"you are a knight of the Order."He had thecollar round his neckindeed--a gift of therestoredprinces of Spain.

LordSteyne in early life had been notorious for hisdaring andhis success at play.  He had sat up two daysand twonights with Mr. Fox at hazard.  He had wonmoney ofthe most august personages of the realm:  hehad wonhis marquisateit was saidat the gaming-table; buthe did not like an allusion to those bygonefredaines. Rebecca saw the scowl gathering over his heavybrow.

She roseup from her sofa and went and took his coffeecup out ofhis hand with a little curtsey.  "Yes" she said"Imust get a watchdog.  But he won't bark at YOU.Andgoinginto the other drawing-roomshe sat down tothe pianoand began to sing little French songs in such acharmingthrilling voice that the mollified noblemanspeedilyfollowed her into that chamberand might be seennoddinghis head and bowing time over her.

Rawdon andhis friend meanwhile played ecarte untilthey hadenough.  The Colonel won; butsay that he wonever somuch and oftennights like thesewhich occurredmany timesin the week--his wife having all the talk andall theadmirationand he sitting silent without the circlenotcomprehending a word of the jokesthe allusionsthemysticallanguage within--must have been ratherwearisometo the ex-dragoon.

"Howis Mrs. Crawley's husband?" Lord Steyne usedto say tohim by way of a good day when they met; andindeedthat was now his avocation in life.  He wasColonelCrawley no more.  He was Mrs. Crawley's husband.

About thelittle Rawdonif nothing has been said allthiswhileit is because he is hidden upstairs in a garretsomewhereor has crawled below into the kitchen forcompanionship. His mother scarcely ever took notice ofhim. He passed the days with his French bonne as longas thatdomestic remained in Mr. Crawley's familyandwhen theFrenchwoman went awaythe little fellowhowling inthe loneliness of the nighthad compassion takenon him bya housemaidwho took him out of his solitarynurseryinto her bed in the garret hard by and comfortedhim.

Rebeccamy Lord Steyneand one or two more werein thedrawing-room taking tea after the operawhen thisshoutingwas heard overhead.  "It's my cherub crying forhisnurse" she said.  She did not offer to move to go andsee thechild.  "Don't agitate your feelings by going to lookfor him"said Lord Steyne sardonically.  "Bah!" repliedthe otherwith a sort of blush"he'll cry himself to sleep";and theyfell to talking about the opera.

Rawdon hadstolen off thoughto look after his sonand heir;and came back to the company when he foundthathonest Dolly was consoling the child.  The Colonel'sdressing-roomwas in those upper regions.  He used to seethe boythere in private.  They had interviews togethereverymorning when he shaved; Rawdon minor sitting on abox by hisfather's side and watching the operation withnever-ceasingpleasure.  He and the sire were great friends.The fatherwould bring him sweetmeats from the dessertand hidethem in a certain old epaulet boxwhere thechild wentto seek themand laughed with joy ondiscoveringthe treasure; laughedbut not too loud:  for mammawas belowasleep and must not be disturbed.  She did notgo to resttill very late and seldom rose till after noon.

Rawdonbought the boy plenty of picture-books andcrammedhis nursery with toys.  Its walls were covered withpicturespasted up by the father's own hand and purchasedby him forready money.  When he was off duty withMrs.Rawdon in the parkhe would sit up herepassinghours withthe boy; who rode on his chestwho pulled hisgreatmustachios as if they were driving-reinsand spentdays withhim in indefatigable gambols.  The room wasa lowroomand oncewhen the child was not five yearsoldhisfatherwho was tossing him wildly up in hisarmshitthe poor little chap's skull so violently againsttheceiling that he almost dropped the childso terrifiedwas he atthe disaster.

Rawdonminor had made up his face for a tremendoushowl--theseverity of the blow indeed authorized thatindulgence;but just as he was going to beginthe fatherinterposed.

"ForGod's sakeRawdydon't wake Mamma" hecried. And the childlooking in a very hard and piteousway at hisfatherbit his lipsclenched his handsanddidn't crya bit.  Rawdon told that story at the clubsatthe messto everybody in town.  "By Gadsir" heexplainedto the public in general"what a good plucked onethat boyof mine is--what a trump he is!  I half-sent hisheadthrough the ceilingby Gadand he wouldn't cry forfear ofdisturbing his mother."

Sometimes--onceor twice in a week--that lady visitedthe upperregions in which the child lived.  She came likea vivifiedfigure out of the Magasin des Modes--blandlysmiling inthe most beautiful new clothes and little glovesandboots.  Wonderful scarfslacesand jewels glitteredabouther.  She had always a new bonnet onand flowersbloomedperpetually in itor else magnificent curlingostrichfeatherssoft and snowy as camellias.  She noddedtwice orthrice patronizingly to the little boywho lookedup fromhis dinner or from the pictures of soldiers he waspainting. When she left the rooman odour of roseorsome othermagical fragrancelingered about the nursery.She was anunearthly being in his eyessuperior to hisfather--toall the world:  to be worshipped and admiredat adistance.  To drive with that lady in the carriage wasan awfulrite:  he sat up in the back seat and did not dareto speak: he gazed with all his eyes at the beautifullydressedPrincess opposite to him.  Gentlemen on splendidprancinghorses came up and smiled and talked with her.How hereyes beamed upon all of them!  Her hand usedto quiverand wave gracefully as they passed.  Whenhe wentout with her he had his new red dress on.  His oldbrownholland was good enough when he stayed at home.Sometimeswhen she was awayand Dolly his maid wasmaking hisbedhe came into his mother's room.  It was asthe abodeof a fairy to him--a mystic chamber ofsplendourand delights.  There in the wardrobe hung thosewonderfulrobes--pink and blue and many-tinted.  Therewas thejewel-casesilver-claspedand the wondrousbronzehand on the dressing-tableglistening all overwith ahundred rings.  There was the cheval-glassthatmiracle ofartin which he could just see his ownwonderinghead and the reflection of Dolly (queerlydistortedand as if up in the ceiling)plumping and pattingthepillows of the bed.  Ohthou poor lonely littlebenightedboy!  Mother is the name for God in the lips andhearts oflittle children; and here was one who wasworshippinga stone!

Now RawdonCrawleyrascal as the Colonel washadcertainmanly tendencies of affection in his heart andcould lovea child and a woman still.  For Rawdon minorhe had agreat secret tenderness thenwhich did notescapeRebeccathough she did not talk about it to herhusband. It did not annoy her:  she was too good-natured. It only increased her scorn for him.  He feltsomehowashamed of this paternal softness and hid itfrom hiswife--only indulging in it when alone with theboy.

He used totake him out of mornings when they wouldgo to thestables together and to the park.  Little LordSouthdownthe best-natured of menwho would makeyou apresent of the hat from his headand whose mainoccupationin life was to buy knick-knacks that he mightgive themaway afterwardsbought the little chap apony notmuch bigger than a large ratthe donor saidand onthis little black Shetland pygmy young Rawdon'sgreatfather was pleased to mount the boyand to walkby hisside in the park.  It pleased him to see his oldquartersand his old fellow-guardsmen at Knightsbridge:he hadbegun to think of his bachelorhood withsomethinglike regret.  The old troopers were glad to recognizetheirancient officer and dandle the little colonel.ColonelCrawley found dining at mess and with hisbrother-officersvery pleasant.  "Hang itI ain't cleverenough forher--I know it.  She won't miss me" he used tosay: and he was righthis wife did not miss him.

Rebeccawas fond of her husband.  She was alwaysperfectlygood-humoured and kind to him.  She did noteven showher scorn much for him; perhaps she likedhim thebetter for being a fool.  He was her upper servantand maitred'hotel.  He went on her errands; obeyedher orderswithout question; drove in the carriage in thering withher without repining; took her to the opera-boxsolacedhimself at his club during the performanceandcamepunctually back to fetch her when due.  He wouldhave likedher to be a little fonder of the boybut evento that hereconciled himself.  "Hang ityou know she's soclever"he said"and I'm not literary and thatyouknow."Foras we have said beforeit requires no greatwisdom tobe able to win at cards and billiardsandRawdonmade no pretensions to any other sort of skill.

When thecompanion camehis domestic duties becameverylight.  His wife encouraged him to dineabroad: she would let him off duty at the opera.  "Don'tstay andstupefy yourself at home to-nightmy dear"she wouldsay.  "Some men are coming who will only boreyou. I would not ask thembut you know it's for yourgoodandnow I have a sheep-dogI need not be afraidto bealone."

"Asheep-dog--a companion!  Becky Sharp with acompanion! Isn't it good fun?" thought Mrs. Crawley toherself. The notion tickled hugely her sense of humour.

One Sundaymorningas Rawdon Crawleyhis littlesonandthe pony were taking their accustomed walk inthe parkthey passed by an old acquaintance of theColonel'sCorporal Clinkof the regimentwho was inconversationwith a friendan old gentlemanwho helda boy inhis arms about the age of little Rawdon.  Thisotheryoungster had seized hold of the Waterloo medalwhich theCorporal woreand was examining it withdelight.

"Goodmorningyour Honour" said Clinkin reply tothe "HowdoClink?" of the Colonel.  "This ere younggentlemanis about the little Colonel's agesir"continuedthe corporal.

"Hisfather was a Waterloo mantoo" said the oldgentlemanwho carried the boy.  "Wasn't heGeorgy?"

"Yes"said Georgy.  He and the little chap on the ponywerelooking at each other with all their might--solemnlyscanningeach other as children do.

"In aline regiment" Clink said with a patronizing air.

"Hewas a Captain in the --th regiment" said the oldgentlemanrather pompously.  "Captain George Osbornesir--perhapsyou knew him.  He died the death of aherosirfighting against the Corsican tyrant."ColonelCrawley blushed quite red.  "I knew him verywellsir" he said"and his wifehis dear little wifesir--howis she?" "Sheis my daughtersir" said the old gentlemanputtingdown the boy and taking out a card with greatsolemnitywhich he handed to the Colonel.  On itwritten-- "Mr.SedleySole Agent for the Black Diamond andAnti-CinderCoal AssociationBunker's WharfThamesStreetand Anna-Maria CottagesFulham Road West."

LittleGeorgy went up and looked at the Shetlandpony.

"Shouldyou like to have a ride?" said Rawdon minorfrom thesaddle.

"Yes"said Georgy.  The Colonelwho had beenlooking athim with some interesttook up the childand puthim on the pony behind Rawdon minor.

"Takehold of himGeorgy" he said--"take my littleboy roundthe waist--his name is Rawdon." And both thechildrenbegan to laugh.

"Youwon't see a prettier pair I thinkTHIS summer'sdaysir"said the good-natured Corporal; and theColonelthe Corporaland old Mr. Sedley with his umbrellawalked bythe side of the children.

CHAPTERXXXVIIIAFamily in a Very Small Way

We mustsuppose little George Osborne has ridden fromKnightsbridgetowards Fulhamand will stop and makeinquiriesat that village regarding some friends whom wehave leftthere.  How is Mrs. Amelia after the storm ofWaterloo?Is she living and thriving? What has come ofMajorDobbinwhose cab was always hankering aboutherpremises? And is there any news of the Collectorof BoggleyWollah? The facts concerning the latter arebrieflythese:

Our worthyfat friend Joseph Sedley returned to Indianot longafter his escape from Brussels.  Either hisfurloughwas upor he dreaded to meet any witnesses of hisWaterlooflight.  However it might behe went back to hisduties inBengal very soon after Napoleon had takenup hisresidence at St.  Helenawhere Jos saw the ex-Emperor. To hear Mr. Sedley talk on board ship youwould havesupposed that it was not the first time he andtheCorsican had metand that the civilian had beardedthe FrenchGeneral at Mount St.  John.  He had athousandanecdotes about the famous battles; he knew thepositionof every regiment and the loss which eachhadincurred.  He did not deny that he had beenconcernedin those victories--that he had been with thearmy andcarried despatches for the Duke of Wellington.And hedescribed what the Duke did and said oneveryconceivable moment of the day of Waterloowithsuch anaccurate knowledge of his Grace's sentimentsandproceedings that it was clear he must have been bytheconqueror's side throughout the day; thoughas anon-combatanthis name was not mentioned in thepublicdocuments relative to the battle.  Perhaps he actuallyworkedhimself up to believe that he had been engagedwith thearmy; certain it is that he made a prodigioussensationfor some time at Calcuttaand was calledWaterlooSedley during the whole of his subsequent stay inBengal.

The billswhich Jos had given for the purchase of thoseunluckyhorses were paid without question by him andhisagents.  He never was heard to allude to the bargainand nobodyknows for a certainty what becameof thehorsesor how he got rid of themor of IsidorhisBelgianservantwho sold a grey horsevery like the onewhich Josrodeat Valenciennes sometime during theautumn of1815.

Jos'sLondon agents had orders to pay one hundredand twentypounds yearly to his parents at Fulham.  Itwas thechief support of the old couple; for Mr. Sedley'sspeculationsin life subsequent to his bankruptcy did notby anymeans retrieve the broken old gentleman'sfortune. He tried to be a wine-merchanta coal-merchantacommission lottery agent&c.&c.  He sent roundprospectusesto his friends whenever he took a new tradeandordered a new brass plate for the doorand talkedpompouslyabout making his fortune still.  But Fortunenever cameback to the feeble and stricken old man.  Oneby one hisfriends dropped offand were weary ofbuyingdear coals and bad wine from him; and therewas onlyhis wife in all the world who fanciedwhen hetotteredoff to the City of a morningthat he was stilldoing anybusiness there.  At evening he crawled slowlyback; andhe used to go of nights to a little club at atavernwhere he disposed of the finances of the nation.It waswonderful to hear him talk about millionsandagiosanddiscountsand what Rothschild wasdoingandBaring Brothers.  He talked of such vast sumsthat thegentlemen of the club (the apothecarytheundertakerthe great carpenter and builderthe parish clerkwho wasallowed to come stealthilyand Mr. Clappouroldacquaintance) respected the old gentleman.  "I wasbetter offoncesir" he did not fail to tell everybody who"usedthe room." "My sonsiris at this minute chiefmagistrateof Ramgunge in the Presidency of Bengalandtouchinghis four thousand rupees per mensem.  Mydaughtermight be a Colonel's lady if she liked.  I mightdraw uponmy sonthe first magistratesirfor twothousandpounds to-morrowand Alexander would cash mybilldownsirdown on the countersir.  But the Sedleyswerealways a proud family." You and Imy dearreadermay drop into this condition one day:  for havenot manyof our friends attained it? Our luck may fail:our powersforsake us:  our place on the boards be takenby betterand younger mimes--the chance of life rollaway andleave us shattered and stranded.  Then menwill walkacross the road when they meet you--orworsestillhold you out a couple of fingers and patronize youin apitying way--then you will knowas soon as yourback isturnedthat your friend begins with a "Poordevilwhat imprudences he has committedwhat chancesthat chaphas thrown away!" Wellwell--a carriage andthreethousand a year is not the summit of the rewardnor theend of God's judgment of men.  If quacks prosperas oftenas they go to the wall--if zanies succeed andknavesarrive at fortuneandvice versasharing illluck andprosperity for all the world like the ablest andmosthonest amongst us--I saybrotherthe gifts andpleasuresof Vanity Fair cannot be held of any greataccountand that it is probable .  .  .  but we arewanderingout of the domain of the story.

Had Mrs.Sedley been a woman of energyshe wouldhaveexerted it after her husband's ruin andoccupyinga largehousewould have taken in boarders.  The brokenSedleywould have acted well as the boarding-houselandlady'shusband; the Munoz of private life; the titular lordandmaster:  the carverhouse-stewardand humblehusband ofthe occupier of the dingy throne.  I have seenmen ofgood brains and breedingand of good hopes andvigouroncewho feasted squires and kept hunters intheiryouthmeekly cutting up legs of mutton forrancorousold harridans and pretending to preside over theirdrearytables--but Mrs. Sedleywe sayhad not spiritenough tobustle about for "a few select inmates to joina cheerfulmusical family" such as one reads of in theTimes. She was content to lie on the shore wherefortunehad stranded her--and you could see that thecareer ofthis old couple was over.

I don'tthink they were unhappy.  Perhaps they werea littleprouder in their downfall than in their prosperity.Mrs.Sedley was always a great person for her landladyMrs.Clappwhen she descended and passed many hourswith herin the basement or ornamented kitchen.  TheIrish maidBetty Flanagan's bonnets and ribbonshersaucinessher idlenessher reckless prodigality of kitchencandlesher consumption of tea and sugarand so forthoccupiedand amused the old lady almost as much as thedoings ofher former householdwhen she had Sambo andthecoachmanand a groomand a footboyand ahousekeeperwith a regiment of female domestics--her formerhouseholdabout which the good lady talked a hundredtimes aday.  And besides Betty FlanaganMrs. Sedleyhad allthe maids-of-all-work in the street to superintend.She knewhow each tenant of the cottages paid orowed hislittle rent.  She stepped aside when Mrs.Rougemontthe actress passed with her dubious family.  Sheflung upher head when Mrs. Pestlerthe apothecary'sladydrove by in her husband's professional one-horsechaise. She had colloquies with the greengrocer aboutthepennorth of turnips which Mr. Sedley loved; she keptan eyeupon the milkman and the baker's boy; andmadevisitations to the butcherwho sold hundreds ofoxen verylikely with less ado than was made aboutMrs.Sedley's loin of mutton:  and she counted thepotatoesunder the joint on Sundayson which daysdressedin herbestshe went to church twice and read Blair'sSermons inthe evening.

On thatdayfor "business" prevented him on weekdaysfromtaking such a pleasureit was old Sedley'sdelight totake out his little grandson Georgy to theneighbouringparks or Kensington Gardensto see the soldiersor to feedthe ducks.  Georgy loved the redcoatsand hisgrandpapatold him how his father had been a famoussoldierand introduced him to many sergeants and otherswithWaterloo medals on their breaststo whom theoldgrandfather pompously presented the child as theson ofCaptain Osborne of the --thwho died gloriouslyon theglorious eighteenth.  He has been known to treatsome ofthese non-commissioned gentlemen to a glass ofporterandindeedin their first Sunday walks wasdisposedto spoil little Georgysadly gorging the boy withapples andparliamentto the detriment of his health--untilAmelia declared that George should never go outwith hisgrandpapa unless the latter promised solemnlyand on hishonournot to give the child any cakeslollipopsor stall produce whatever.

BetweenMrs. Sedley and her daughter there was a sortofcoolness about this boyand a secret jealousy--foroneevening in George's very early daysAmeliawhohad beenseated at work in their little parlour scarcelyremarkingthat the old lady had quitted the roomranupstairsinstinctively to the nursery at the cries of thechildwhohad been asleep until that moment--andtherefound Mrs. Sedley in the act of surreptitiouslyadministeringDaffy's Elixir to the infant.  Ameliathegentlestand sweetest of everyday mortalswhen shefound thismeddling with her maternal authoritythrilledandtrembled all over with anger.  Her cheeksordinarilypalenowflushed upuntil they were as red as they usedto be whenshe was a child of twelve years old.  Sheseized thebaby out of her mother's arms and thengrasped atthe bottleleaving the old lady gaping at herfuriousand holding the guilty tea-spoon.

Ameliaflung the bottle crashing into the fire-place."Iwill NOT have baby poisonedMamma" cried Emmyrockingthe infant about violently with both her armsround himand turning with flashing eyes at her mother.

"PoisonedAmelia!" said the old lady; "this languageto me?"

"Heshall not have any medicine but that which Mr.Pestlersends for hi n.  He told me that Daffy's Elixir waspoison."

"Verygood:  you think I'm a murderess then" repliedMrs.Sedley.  "This is the language you use to your mother.I have metwith misfortunes:  I have sunk low in life:  Ihave keptmy carriageand now walk on foot:  but I didnot know Iwas a murderess beforeand thank you for theNEWS."

"Mamma"said the poor girlwho was always ready fortears--"youshouldn't be hard upon me.  I--I didn't mean--I meanI did not wish to say you would to anywrong tothis dear childonly--"

"Ohnomy love--only that I was a murderess; inwhich caseI had better go to the Old Bailey.  Though Ididn'tpoison YOUwhen you were a childbut gave youthe bestof education and the most expensive mastersmoneycould procure.  Yes; I've nursed five children andburiedthree; and the one I loved the best of allandtendedthrough croupand teethingand measlesandhooping-coughand brought up with foreign mastersregardlessof expenseand with accomplishments at MinervaHouse--whichI never had when I was a girl--when I wastoo gladto honour my father and motherthat I mightlive longin the landand to be usefuland not to mopeall day inmy room and act the fine lady--says I'm amurderess. AhMrs. Osborne! may YOU never nourish aviper inyour bosomthat's MY prayer."

"MammaMamma!" cried the bewildered girl; and thechild inher arms set up a frantic chorus of shouts."Amurderessindeed!  Go down on your knees andpray toGod to cleanse your wicked ungrateful heartAmeliaand may He forgive you as I do." And Mrs.Sedleytossed out of the roomhissing out the wordpoisononce moreand so ending her charitablebenediction.

Till thetermination of her natural lifethis breachbetweenMrs. Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended. Thequarrel gave the elder lady numberlessadvantageswhich she did not fail to turn to account withfemaleingenuity and perseverance.  For instanceshescarcelyspoke to Amelia for many weeks afterwards.She warnedthe domestics not to touch the childas Mrs.Osbornemight be offended.  She asked her daughter tosee andsatisfy herself that there was no poison preparedin thelittle daily messes that were concocted for Georgy.Whenneighbours asked after the boy's healthshereferredthem pointedly to Mrs. Osborne.  SHE neverventuredto ask whether the baby was well or not.  SHEwould nottouch the child although he was her grandsonand ownprecious darlingfor she was not USED tochildrenand might kill it.  And whenever Mr. Pestler cameupon hishealing inquisitionshe received the doctor withsuch asarcastic and scornful demeanouras made thesurgeondeclare that not Lady Thistlewood herselfwhomhe had thehonour of attending professionallycouldgiveherself greater airs than old Mrs. Sedleyfrom whomhe nevertook a fee.  And very likely Emmy was jealoustoouponher own partas what mother is notof thosewho wouldmanage her children for heror becomecandidatesfor the first place in their affections.  It is certainthat whenanybody nursed the childshe was uneasyandthat shewould no more allow Mrs. Clapp or thedomesticto dress or tend him than she would have let themwash herhusband's miniature which hung up over herlittlebed--the same little bed from which the poor girlhad goneto his; and to which she retired now for manylongsilenttearfulbut happy years.

In thisroom was all Amelia's heart and treasure.  Hereit wasthat she tended her boy and watched him throughthe manyills of childhoodwith a constant passion oflove. The elder George returned in him somehowonlyimprovedand as if come back from heaven.  In ahundredlittle toneslooksand movementsthe child wasso likehis father that the widow's heart thrilled as sheheld himto it; and he would often ask the cause of hertears. It was because of his likeness to his fathershedid notscruple to tell him.  She talked constantly to himabout thisdead fatherand spoke of her love for Georgeto theinnocent and wondering child; much more than sheever haddone to George himselfor to any confidante ofheryouth.  To her parents she never talked about thismattershrinking from baring her heart to them.  LittleGeorgevery likely could understand no better than theybut intohis ears she poured her sentimental secretsunreservedlyand into his only.  The very joy of thiswoman wasa sort of griefor so tenderat leastthatitsexpression was tears.  Her sensibilities were so weakandtremulous that perhaps they ought not to be talkedabout in abook.  I was told by Dr. Pestler (now a mostflourishinglady's physicianwith a sumptuous dark greencarriagea prospect of speedy knighthoodand a houseinManchester Square) that her grief at weaning the childwas asight that would have unmanned a Herod.  He wasverysoft-hearted many years agoand his wife wasmortallyjealous of Mrs. Ameliathen and long afterwards.

Perhapsthe doctor's lady had good reason for herjealousy: most women shared itof those who formed thesmallcircle of Amelia's acquaintanceand were quiteangry atthe enthusiasm with which the other sex regardedher. For almost all men who came near her lovedher;though no doubt they would be at a loss to tell youwhy. She was not brilliantnor wittynor wise overmuchnorextraordinarily handsome.  But wherever shewent shetouched and charmed every one of the malesexasinvariably as she awakened the scorn andincredulityof her own sisterhood.  I think it was herweaknesswhich was her principal charm--a kind of sweetsubmissionand softnesswhich seemed to appeal toeach manshe met for his sympathy and protection.  Wehave seenhow in the regimentthough she spoke but tofew ofGeorge's comrades thereall the swords of theyoungfellows at the mess-table would have leapt fromtheirscabbards to fight round her; and so it was inthe littlenarrow lodging-house and circle at Fulhamsheinterestedand pleased everybody.  If she had been Mrs.Mangoherselfof the great house of MangoPlantainand Co.Crutched Friarsand the magnificent proprietressof thePineriesFulhamwho gave summer dejeunersfrequentedby Dukes and Earlsand drove aboutthe parishwith magnificent yellow liveries and bay horsessuch asthe royal stables at Kensington themselves couldnot turnout--I say had she been Mrs. Mango herselforher son'swifeLady Mary Mango (daughter of theEarl ofCastlemouldywho condescended to marry thehead ofthe firm)the tradesmen of the neighbourhoodcould notpay her more honour than they invariablyshowed tothe gentle young widowwhen she passed bytheirdoorsor made her humble purchases at their shops.

Thus itwas not only Mr. Pestlerthe medical manbutMr. Lintonthe young assistantwho doctored the servantmaids andsmall tradesmenand might be seen any dayreadingthe Times in the surgerywho openly declaredhimselfthe slave of Mrs. Osborne.  He was a personableyounggentlemanmore welcome at Mrs. Sedley's lodgingsthan hisprincipal; and if anything went wrong withGeorgyhewould drop in twice or thrice in the day tosee thelittle chapand without so much as the thoughtof a fee. He would abstract lozengestamarindsandotherproduce from the surgery-drawers for littleGeorgy'sbenefitand compounded draughts and mixturesfor him ofmiraculous sweetnessso that it was quite apleasureto the child to be ailing.  He and Pestlerhischiefsatup two whole nights by the boy in thatmomentousand awful week when Georgy had the measles; andwhen youwould have thoughtfrom the mother's terrorthat therehad never been measles in the world before.Would theyhave done as much for other people? Didthey situp for the folks at the Pinerieswhen RalphPlantagenetand Gwendolineand Guinever Mango had thesamejuvenile complaint? Did they sit up for little MaryClappthelandlord's daughterwho actually caught thedisease oflittle Georgy? Truth compels one to sayno.They sleptquite undisturbedat least as far as she wasconcerned--pronouncedhers to be a slight casewhichwouldalmost cure itselfsent her in a draught or twoand threwin bark when the child ralliedwith perfectindifferenceand just for form's sake.

Againthere was the little French chevalier oppositewho gavelessons in his native tongue at various schoolsin theneighbourhoodaud who might be heard in hisapartmentof nights playing tremulous old gavottes andminuets ona wheezy old fiddle.  Whenever this powderedandcourteous old manwho never missed a Sunday at theconventchapel at Hammersmithand who was in allrespectsthoughtsconductand bearing utterly unlike thebeardedsavages of his nationwho curse perfidiousAlbionand scowl at you from over their cigarsin theQuadrantarcades at the present day--whenever theoldChevalier de Talonrouge spoke of Mistress Osbornehe wouldfirst finish his pinch of snuffflick away theremainingparticles of dust with a graceful wave of hishandgather up his fingers again into a bunchandbringingthem up to his mouthblow them open with a kissexclaimingAh! la divine creature!  He vowed andprotestedthat when Amelia walked in the Brompton Lanesflowersgrew in profusion under her feet.  He called littleGeorgyCupidand asked him news of Venushis mamma;and toldthe astonished Betty Flanagan that she wasone of theGracesand the favourite attendant of theReine desAmours.

Instancesmight be multiplied of this easily gained andunconsciouspopularity.  Did not Mr. Binnythe mildandgenteel curate of the district chapelwhich the familyattendedcall assiduously upon the widowdandle thelittle boyon his kneeand offer to teach him Latinto theanger ofthe elderly virginhis sisterwho kept housefor him?"There is nothing in herBeilby" the latterlady wouldsay.  "When she comes to tea here she doesnot speaka word during the whole evening.  She is but apoorlackadaisical creatureand it is my belief has noheart atall.  It is only her pretty face which all yougentlemenadmire so.  Miss Gritswho has five thousandpoundsand expectations besideshas twice as muchcharacterand is a thousand times more agreeable to mytaste; andif she were good-looking I know that you wouldthink herperfection."

Verylikely Miss Binny was right to a great extent.  ItIS thepretty face which creates sympathy in the hearts ofmenthosewicked rogues.  A woman may possess thewisdom andchastity of Minervaand we give no heed toherifshe has a plain face.  What folly will not a pair ofbrighteyes make pardonable? What dulness may notred lipsand sweet accents render pleasant? And sowiththeirusual sense of justiceladies argue that because awoman ishandsometherefore she is a fool.  O ladiesladies!there are some of you who are neither handsomenor wise.

These arebut trivial incidents to recount in the life ofourheroine.  Her tale does not deal in wondersas thegentlereader has already no doubt perceived; and if ajournalhad been kept of her proceedings during thesevenyears after the birth of her sonthere would befound fewincidents more remarkable in it than that ofthemeaslesrecorded in the foregoing page.  Yesonedayandgreatly to her wonderthe Reverend Mr. Binnyjustmentionedasked her to change her name of Osbornefor hisown; whenwith deep blushes and tears in hereyes andvoiceshe thanked him for his regard for herexpressedgratitude for his attentions to her and to herpoorlittle boybut said that she nevernever couldthink ofany but--but the husband whom she had lost.

On thetwenty-fifth of Apriland the eighteenth ofJunethedays of marriage and widowhoodshe kept herroomentirelyconsecrating them (and we do not knowhow manyhours of solitary night-thoughther little boysleepingin his crib by her bedside) to the memory of thatdepartedfriend.  During the day she was more active.She had toteach George to read and to write and a littleto draw. She read booksin order that she might tellhimstories from them.  As his eyes opened and his mindexpandedunder the influence of the outward natureroundabout himshe taught the childto the best ofher humblepowerto acknowledge the Maker of allandeverynight and every morning he and she--(in thatawful andtouching communion which I think must bringa thrillto the heart of every man who witnesses or whoremembersit)--the mother and the little boy--prayedto OurFather togetherthe mother pleading with all hergentleheartthe child lisping after her as she spoke.  Andeach timethey prayed to God to bless dear Papaasif he werealive and in the room with them.

To washand dress this young gentleman--to take himfor a runof the morningsbefore breakfastand theretreat ofgrandpapa for "business"--to make for him themostwonderful and ingenious dressesfor which end thethriftywidow cut up and altered every available little bitof finerywhich she possessed out of her wardrobe duringhermarriage--for Mrs. Osborne herself (greatly to hermother'svexationwho preferred fine clothesespeciallysince hermisfortunes) always wore a black gown and astrawbonnet with a black ribbon--occupied her manyhours ofthe day.  Others she had to spareat the serviceof hermother and her old father.  She had taken the painsto learnand used to play cribbage with this gentlemanon thenights when he did not go to his club.  She sangfor himwhen he was so mindedand it was a goodsignforhe invariably fell into a comfortable sleep duringthemusic.  She wrote out his numerous memorialslettersprospectusesand projects.  It was in herhandwritingthat most of the old gentleman's formeracquaintanceswere informed that he had become an agent forthe BlackDiamond and Anti-Cinder Coal Company andcouldsupply his friends and the public with the best coalsat --s. per chaldron.  All he did was to sign the circularswith hisflourish and signatureand direct them in ashakyclerklike hand.  One of these papers was sent toMajorDobbin--Regt.care of Messrs.  Cox and Greenwood;but theMajor being in Madras at the timehad noparticularcall for coals.  He knewthoughthe handwhich hadwritten the prospectus.  Good God! whatwould henot have given to hold it in his own!  A secondprospectuscame outinforming the Major that J.  SedleyandCompanyhaving established agencies at OportoBordeauxand St.  Mary'swere enabled to offer to theirfriendsand the public generally the finest and mostcelebratedgrowths of portssherriesand claret wines atreasonableprices and under extraordinary advantages.Actingupon this hintDobbin furiously canvassed thegovernorthe commander-in-chiefthe judgestheregimentsand everybody whom he knew in the Presidencyand senthome to Sedley and Co.  orders for wine whichperfectlyastonished Mr. Sedley and Mr. Clappwho wasthe Co. in the business.  But no more orders came afterthat firstburst of good fortuneon which poor old Sedleywas aboutto build a house in the Citya regiment ofclerksadock to himselfand correspondents all overtheworld.  The old gentleman's former taste in wine hadgone: the curses of the mess-room assailed Major Dobbinfor thevile drinks he had been the means of introducingthere; andhe bought back a great quantity of the wineand soldit at public outcryat an enormous loss to himself.As forJoswho was by this time promoted to a seatat theRevenue Board at Calcuttahe was wild with ragewhen thepost brought him out a bundle of theseBacchanalianprospectuseswith a private note from hisfathertelling Jos that his senior counted upon him inthisenterpriseand had consigned a quantity of selectwines tohimas per invoicedrawing bills upon him forthe amountof the same.  Joswho would no more have itsupposedthat his fatherJos Sedley's fatherof the BoardofRevenuewas a wine merchant asking for ordersthanthat hewas Jack Ketchrefused the bills with scornwrotebackcontumeliously to the old gentlemanbidding himto mindhis own affairs; and the protested paper comingbackSedley and Co.  had to take it upwith the profitswhich theyhad made out of the Madras ventureandwith alittle portion of Emmy's savings.

Besidesher pension of fifty pounds a yearthere hadbeen fivehundred poundsas her husband's executorstatedleft in the agent's hands at the time of Osborne'sdemisewhich sumas George's guardianDobbinproposedto put out at 8 per cent in an Indian house ofagency. Mr. Sedleywho thought the Major had someroguishintentions of his own about the moneywasstronglyagainst this plan; and he went to the agents toprotestpersonally against the employment of the moneyinquestionwhen he learnedto his surprisethat therehad beenno such sum in their handsthat all the lateCaptain'sassets did not amount to a hundred poundsand thatthe five hundred pounds in question must be aseparatesumof which Major Dobbin knew the particulars.More thanever convinced that there was somerogueryold Sedley pursued the Major.  As his daughter'snearestfriendhe demanded with a high hand a statementof thelate Captain's accounts.  Dobbin's stammeringblushingand awkwardness added to the other'sconvictionsthat he had a rogue to deal withand in amajestictone he told that officer a piece of his mindashe calleditsimply stating his belief that the Major wasunlawfullydetaining his late son-in-law's money.

Dobbin atthis lost all patienceand if his accuser hadnot beenso old and so brokena quarrel might haveensuedbetween them at the Slaughters' Coffee-houseina box ofwhich place of entertainment the gentlemen hadtheircolloquy.  "Come upstairssir" lisped out theMajor. "I insist on your coming up the stairsand I willshow whichis the injured partypoor George or I"; anddraggingthe old gentleman up to his bedroomheproducedfrom his desk Osborne's accountsand a bundleof IOU'swhich the latter had givenwhoto do himjusticewas always ready to give an IOU.  "He paidhis billsin England" Dobbin added"but he had not ahundredpounds in the world when he fell.  I and one ortwo of hisbrother officers made up the little sumwhichwas allthat we could spareand you dare tell us thatwe aretrying to cheat the widow and the orphan."Sedley wasvery contrite and humbledthough the fact isthatWilliam Dobbin had told a great falsehood to the oldgentleman;having himself given every shilling of themoneyhaving buried his friendand paid all the fees andchargesincident upon the calamity and removal of poorAmelia.

Aboutthese expenses old Osborne had never givenhimselfany trouble to thinknor any other relative ofAmelianor Amelia herselfindeed.  She trusted to MajorDobbin asan accountanttook his somewhat confusedcalculationsfor grantedand never once suspected howmuch shewas in his debt.

Twice orthrice in the yearaccording to her promiseshe wrotehim letters to Madrasletters all aboutlittleGeorgy.  How he treasured these papers!  WheneverAmeliawrote he answeredand not until then.  Buthe sentover endless remembrances of himself to hisgodson andto her.  He ordered and sent a box of scarfsand agrand ivory set of chess-men from China.  Thepawns werelittle green and white menwith real swordsandshields; the knights were on horsebackthe castleswere onthe backs of elephants.  "Mrs. Mango's own set atthePineries was not so fine" Mr. Pestler remarked.  Thesechess-menwere the delight of Georgy's lifewho printedhis firstletter in acknowledgement of this gift of hisgodpapa. He sent over preserves and pickleswhich latterthe younggentleman tried surreptitiously in the sideboardandhalf-killed himself with eating.  He thought it was ajudgementupon him for stealingthey were so hot.  Emmywrote acomical little account of this mishap to theMajor: it pleased him to think that her spirits were rallyingand thatshe could be merry sometimes now.  Hesent overa pair of shawlsa white one for her and a blackone withpalm-leaves for her motherand a pair of redscarfsaswinter wrappersfor old Mr. Sedley and George.The shawlswere worth fifty guineas apiece at the veryleastasMrs. Sedley knew.  She wore hers in state atchurch atBromptonand was congratulated by herfemalefriends upon the splendid acquisition.  Emmy'stoobecameprettily her modest black gown.  "What a pity itis shewon't think of him!" Mrs. Sedley remarked toMrs. Clappand to all her friends of Brompton.  "Jos neversent ussuch presentsI am sureand grudges useverything. It is evident that the Major is over head and earsin lovewith her; and yetwhenever I so much as hint itshe turnsred and begins to cry and goes and sits upstairswith herminiature.  I'm sick of that miniature.  I wish wehad neverseen those odious purse-proud Osbornes."

Amidstsuch humble scenes and associates George'searlyyouth was passedand the boy grew up delicatesensitiveimperiouswoman-bred--domineering thegentlemother whom he loved with passionate affection.  Heruled allthe rest of the little world round about him.As hegrewthe elders were amazed at his haughtymanner andhis constant likeness to his father.  He askedquestionsabout everythingas inquiring youth will do.  Theprofundityof his remarks and interrogatories astonishedhis oldgrandfatherwho perfectly bored the club at thetavernwith stories about the little lad's learning andgenius. He suffered his grandmother with a good-humouredindifference. The small circle round about himbelievedthat the equal of the boy did not exist upon theearth. Georgy inherited his father's prideand perhapsthoughtthey were not wrong.

When hegrew to be about six years oldDobbin beganto writeto him very much.  The Major wanted to hearthatGeorgy was going to a school and hoped he wouldacquithimself with credit there:  or would he have a goodtutor athome? It was time that he should begin to learn;and hisgodfather and guardian hinted that he hoped tobe allowedto defray the charges of the boy's educationwhichwould fall heavily upon his mother's straitenedincome. The Majorin a wordwas always thinking aboutAmelia andher little boyand by orders to his agentskept thelatter provided with picture-bookspaint-boxesdesksandall conceivable implements of amusement andinstruction. Three days before George's sixth birthday agentlemanin a gigaccompanied by a servantdroveup to Mr.Sedley's house and asked to see Master GeorgeOsborne: it was Mr. Woolseymilitary tailorof ConduitStreetwho came at the Major's order to measure theyounggentleman for a suit of clothes.  He had had thehonour ofmaking for the Captainthe younggentleman'sfather.

Sometimestooand by the Major's desire no doubthissistersthe Misses Dobbinwould call in the familycarriageto take Amelia and the little boy to drive if theywere soinclined.  The patronage and kindness of theseladies wasvery uncomfortable to Ameliabut she bore itmeeklyenoughfor her nature was to yield; andbesidesthecarriage and its splendours gave little Georgyimmensepleasure.  The ladies begged occasionally that thechildmight pass a day with themand he was always gladto go tothat fine garden-house at Denmark Hillwheretheylivedand where there were such fine grapes in thehot-housesand peaches on the walls.

One daythey kindly came over to Amelia with newswhich theywere SURE would delight her--something VERYinterestingabout their dear William.

"Whatwas it:  was he coming home?" she asked withpleasurebeaming in her eyes.

"Ohno--not the least--but they had very good reasonto believethat dear William was about to be married--and to arelation of a very dear friend of Amelia's--toMissGlorvina O'DowdSir Michael O'Dowd's sisterwho hadgone out to join Lady O'Dowd at Madras--a verybeautifuland accomplished girleverybody said."

Ameliasaid "Oh!" Amelia was very VERY happy indeed.But shesupposed Glorvina could not be like her oldacquaintancewho was most kind--but--but she wasvery happyindeed.  And by some impulse of which Icannotexplain the meaningshe took George in her armsand kissedhim with an extraordinary tenderness.  Hereyes werequite moist when she put the child down; andshescarcely spoke a word during the whole of thedrive--thoughshe was so very happy indeed.

CHAPTERXXXIXACynical Chapter

Our dutynow takes us back for a brief space to some oldHampshireacquaintances of ourswhose hopes respectingthedisposal of their rich kinswoman's property were sowoefullydisappointed.  After counting upon thirty thousandpoundsfrom his sisterit was a heavy blow.  to Bute Crawleyto receivebut five; out of which sumwhen he had paidhis owndebts and those of Jimhis son at collegea verysmallfragment remained to portion off his four plaindaughters. Mrs. Bute never knewor at least neveracknowledgedhow far her own tyrannous behaviour hadtended toruin her husband.  All that woman could doshevowed andprotested she had done.  Was it her fault ifshe didnot possess those sycophantic arts which herhypocriticalnephewPitt Crawleypractised? She wishedhim allthe happiness which he merited out of hisill-gottengains.  "At least the money will remain in thefamily"she said charitably.  "Pitt will never spend itmydearthatis quite certain; for a greater miser does notexist inEnglandand he is as odiousthough in adifferentwayas his spendthrift brotherthe abandonedRawdon."

So Mrs.Buteafter the first shock of rage anddisappointmentbegan to accommodate herself as bestshe couldto her altered fortunes and to save and retrenchwith allher might.  She instructed her daughters how tobearpoverty cheerfullyand invented a thousand notablemethods toconceal or evade it.  She took them about toballs andpublic places in the neighbourhoodwithpraiseworthyenergy; nayshe entertained her friends in ahospitablecomfortable manner at the Rectoryand muchmorefrequently than before dear Miss Crawley's legacyhad fallenin.  From her outward bearing nobody wouldhavesupposed that the family had been disappointedin theirexpectationsor have guessed from her frequentappearancein public how she pinched and starved athome. Her girls had more milliners' furniture than theyhad everenjoyed before.  They appeared perseveringlyat theWinchester and Southampton assemblies; theypenetratedto Cowes for the race-balls and regatta-gaietiesthere; andtheir carriagewith the horses taken from theploughwas at work perpetuallyuntil it began almost tobebelieved that the four sisters had had fortunes left themby theirauntwhose name the family never mentioned inpublic butwith the most tender gratitude and regard.  Iknow nosort of lying which is more frequent in VanityFair thanthisand it may be remarked how people whopractiseit take credit to themselves for their hypocrisyand fancythat they are exceedingly virtuous andpraiseworthybecause they are able to deceive the worldwithregard to the extent of their means.

Mrs. Butecertainly thought herself one of the mostvirtuouswomen in Englandand the sight of her happyfamily wasan edifying one to strangers.  They were socheerfulso lovingso well-educatedso simple!  Marthapaintedflowers exquisitely and furnished half the charitybazaars inthe county.  Emma was a regular County Bulbuland herverses in the Hampshire Telegraph werethe gloryof its Poet's Corner.  Fanny and Matilda sangduetstogetherMamma playing the pianoand the othertwosisters sitting with their arms round each other's waistsandlistening affectionately.  Nobody saw the poor girlsdrummingat the duets in private.  No one saw Mammadrillingthem rigidly hour after hour.  In a wordMrs. Buteput a goodface against fortune and kept up appearancesin themost virtuous manner.

Everythingthat a good and respectable mother coulddo Mrs.Bute did.  She got over yachting men fromSouthamptonparsons from the Cathedral Close at Winchesterandofficers from the barracks there.  She tried to inveiglethe youngbarristers at assizes and encouraged Jim tobring homefriends with whom he went out hunting withthe H. H.  What will not a mother do for the benefit ofherbeloved ones?

Betweensuch a woman and her brother-in-lawtheodiousBaronet at the Hallit is manifest that there couldbe verylittle in common.  The rupture between Bute andhisbrother Sir Pitt was complete; indeedbetween SirPitt andthe whole countyto which the old man was ascandal. His dislike for respectable society increased withageandthe lodge-gates had not opened to a gentleman'scarriage-wheelssince Pitt and Lady Jane came to pay theirvisit ofduty after their marriage.

That wasan awful and unfortunate visitnever to bethought ofby the family without horror.  Pitt begged hiswifewitha ghastly countenancenever to speak of itand it wasonly through Mrs. Bute herselfwho stillkneweverything which took place at the Hallthat thecircumstancesof Sir Pitt's reception of his son anddaughter-in-lawwere ever known at all.

As theydrove up the avenue of the park in their neatandwell-appointed carriagePitt remarked with dismayand wrathgreat gaps among the trees--his trees--whichthe oldBaronet was felling entirely without license.  Thepark worean aspect of utter dreariness and ruin.  Thedriveswere ill keptand the neat carriage splashed andflounderedin muddy pools along the road.  The greatsweep infront of the terrace and entrance stair wasblack andcovered with mosses; the once trim flower-bedsrank andweedy.  Shutters were up along almost thewhole lineof the house; the great hall-door was unbarredafter muchringing of the bell; an individual in ribbonswas seenflitting up the black oak stairas Horrocks atlengthadmitted the heir of Queen's Crawley and his brideinto thehalls of their fathers.  He led the way into SirPitt's"Library" as it was calledthe fumes of tobaccogrowingstronger as Pitt and Lady Jane approached thatapartment"Sir Pitt ain't very well" Horrocks remarkedapologeticallyand hinted that his master was afflictedwithlumbago.

Thelibrary looked out on the front walk and park.Sir Pitthad opened one of the windowsand was bawlingout thenceto the postilion and Pitt's servantwho seemedto beabout to take the baggage down.

"Don'tmove none of them trunks" he criedpointingwith apipe which he held in his hand.  "It's only a morningvisitTuckeryou fool.  Lorwhat cracks that off hosshas in hisheels!  Ain't there no one at the King's Head torub 'em alittle? How doPitt? How domy dear? Cometo see theold manhay? 'Gad--you've a pretty facetoo.You ain'tlike that old horse-godmotheryour mother.Come andgive old Pitt a kisslike a good little gal."

Theembrace disconcerted the daughter-in-lawsomewhatas the caresses of the old gentlemanunshorn andperfumedwith tobaccomight well do.  But sherememberedthat her brother Southdown had mustachiosand smokedcigarsand submitted to the Baronet with atolerablegrace.

"Pitthas got vat" said the Baronetafter this mark ofaffection. "Does he read ee very long zermonsmy dear?HundredthPsalmEvening Hymnhay Pitt? Go and geta glass ofMalmsey and a cake for my Lady JaneHorrocksyou greatbig boobyand don't stand stearing there likea fatpig.  I won't ask you to stopmy dear; you'll find it toostoopidand so should I too along a Pitt.  I'm an old mannowandlike my own waysand my pipe and backgammonof anight."

"Ican play at backgammonsir" said Lady Janelaughing. "I used to play with Papa and Miss Crawleydidn'tIMr.Crawley?"

"LadyJane can playsirat the game to which youstate thatyou are so partial" Pitt said haughtily.

But shewawn't stop for all that.  Nawnawgoo backto Mudburyand give Mrs. Rincer a benefit; or drive downto theRectory and ask Buty for a dinner.  He'll be charmedto seeyouyou know; he's so much obliged to you forgettin'the old woman's money.  Haha!  Some of it willdo topatch up the Hall when I'm gone."

"Iperceivesir" said Pitt with a heightened voice"thatyour people will cut down the timber."

"Yeesyeesvery fine weatherand seasonable for thetime ofyear" Sir Pitt answeredwho had suddenlygrowndeaf.  "But I'm gittin' oldPittnow.  Law blessyouyou ain'tfar from fifty yourself.  But he wears wellmyprettyLady Janedon't he? It's all godlinesssobrietyanda morallife.  Look at meI'm not very fur from fowr-score--hehe";and he laughedand took snuffand leeredat her andpinched her hand.

Pitt oncemore brought the conversation back to thetimberbut the Baronet was deaf again in an instant.

"I'mgittin' very oldand have been cruel bad this yearwith thelumbago.  I shan't be here now for long; but I'mglad ee'vecomedaughter-in-law.  I like your faceLadyJane: it's got none of the damned high-boned Binkie lookin it; andI'll give ee something prettymy dearto go toCourt in."And he shuffled across the room to a cupboardfrom whichhe took a little old case containing jewels ofsomevalue.  "Take that" said he"my dear; itbelongedto mymotherand afterwards to the first Lady Binkie.Prettypearls--never gave 'em the ironmonger's daughter.Nono. Take 'em and put 'em up quick" said hethrustingthe caseinto his daughter's handand clapping the door ofthecabinet toas Horrocks entered with a salver andrefreshments.

"Whathave you a been and given Pitt's wife?" saidtheindividual in ribbonswhen Pitt and Lady Jane hadtakenleave of the old gentleman.  It was Miss Horrocksthebutler's daughter--the cause of the scandalthroughoutthe county--the lady who reigned now almostsupreme atQueen's Crawley.

The riseand progress of those Ribbons had beenmarkedwith dismay by the county and family.  TheRibbonsopened an account at the Mudbury Branch SavingsBank; theRibbons drove to churchmonopolising thepony-chaisewhich was for the use of the servants atthe Hall. The domestics were dismissed at her pleasure.The Scotchgardenerwho still lingered on the premisestaking apride in his walls and hot-housesand indeedmaking apretty good livelihood by the gardenwhich hefarmedand of which he sold the produce at Southamptonfound theRibbons eating peaches on a sunshiny morningat thesouth-walland had his ears boxed when heremonstratedabout this attack on his property.  He andhis Scotchwife and his Scotch childrenthe onlyrespectableinhabitants of Queen's Crawleywere forced tomigratewith their goods and their chattelsand left thestatelycomfortable gardens to go to wasteand theflower-bedsto run to seed.  Poor Lady Crawley's rose-gardenbecame thedreariest wilderness.  Only two or threedomesticsshuddered in the bleak old servants' hall.  Thestablesand offices were vacantand shut upand halfruined. Sir Pitt lived in privateand boozed nightly withHorrockshis butler or house-steward (as he now beganto becalled)and the abandoned Ribbons.  The timeswere verymuch changed since the period when she droveto Mudburyin the spring-cart and called the small tradesmen"Sir."It may have been shameor it may have beendislike ofhis neighboursbut the old Cynic of Queen'sCrawleyhardly issued from his park-gates at all now.  Hequarrelledwith his agents and screwed his tenants byletter. His days were passed in conducting his owncorrespondence;the lawyers and farm-bailiffs who had todobusiness with him could not reach him but through theRibbonswho received them at the door of thehousekeeper'sroomwhich commanded the back entrance bywhich theywere admitted; and so the Baronet's dailyperplexitiesincreasedand his embarrassments multipliedround him.

The horrorof Pitt Crawley may be imaginedas thesereports ofhis father's dotage reached the most exemplaryandcorrect of gentlemen.  He trembled daily lest he shouldhear thatthe Ribbons was proclaimed his second legalmother-in-law. After that first and last visithis father'sname wasnever mentioned in Pitt's polite and genteelestablishment. It was the skeleton in his houseand all thefamilywalked by it in terror and silence.  The CountessSouthdownkept on dropping per coach at the lodge-gatethe mostexciting tractstracts which ought to frightenthe hairoff your head.  Mrs. Bute at the parsonagenightlylooked out to see if the sky was red over theelmsbehind which the Hall stoodand the mansion was onfire. Sir G.  Wapshot and Sir H.  Fuddlestoneold friends ofthe housewouldn't sit on the bench with Sir Pitt atQuarterSessionsand cut him dead in the High StreetofSouthamptonwhere the reprobate stood offering hisdirty oldhands to them.  Nothing had any effect upon him;he put hishands into his pocketsand burst out laughingas hescrambled into his carriage and four; he used toburst outlaughing at Lady Southdown's tracts; and helaughed athis sonsand at the worldand at theRibbonswhen she was angrywhich was not seldom.

MissHorrocks was installed as housekeeper at Queen'sCrawleyand ruled all the domestics there with greatmajestyand rigour.  All the servants were instructed toaddressher as "Mum" or "Madam"--and there was onelittlemaidon her promotionwho persisted in callingher "MyLady" without any rebuke on the part of thehousekeeper. "There has been better ladiesand therehas beenworserHester" was Miss Horrocks' reply tothiscompliment of her inferior; so she ruledhavingsupremepower over all except her fatherwhomhowevershe treated with considerable haughtinesswarninghim not tobe too familiar in his behaviour to one "as wasto be aBaronet's lady." Indeedshe rehearsed that exaltedpart inlife with great satisfaction to herselfand to theamusementof old Sir Pittwho chuckled at her airs andgracesand would laugh by the hour together at herassumptionsof dignity and imitations of genteel life.He sworeit was as good as a play to see her in thecharacterof a fine dameand he made her put on one ofthe firstLady Crawley's court-dressesswearing (entirelyto MissHorrocks' own concurrence) that the dressbecame herprodigiouslyand threatening to drive her offthat veryinstant to Court in a coach-and-four.  She hadtheransacking of the wardrobes of the two defunct ladiesand cutand hacked their posthumous finery so as to suither owntastes and figure.  And she would have liked totakepossession of their jewels and trinkets too; but theoldBaronet had locked them away in his private cabinet;nor couldshe coax or wheedle him out of the keys.  Andit is afactthat some time after she left Queen's Crawleyacopy-book belonging to this lady was discoveredwhichshowedthat she had taken great pains in private to learnthe art ofwriting in generaland especially of writingher ownname as Lady CrawleyLady Betsy HorrocksLadyElizabeth Crawley&c.

Though thegood people of the Parsonage never went tothe Halland shunned the horrid old dotard its owneryetthey kepta strict knowledge of all that happened thereand werelooking out every day for the catastrophe forwhich MissHorrocks was also eager.  But Fate intervenedenviouslyand prevented her from receiving the reward dueto suchimmaculate love and virtue.

One daythe Baronet surprised "her ladyship" as hejocularlycalled herseated at that old and tuneless pianoin thedrawing-roomwhich had scarcely been touchedsinceBecky Sharp played quadrilles upon it--seated atthe pianowith the utmost gravity and squalling to thebest ofher power in imitation of the music which shehadsometimes heard.  The little kitchen-maid on herpromotionwas standing at her mistress's sidequite delightedduring theoperationand wagging her head up and downandcrying"LorMum'tis bittiful"--just like a genteelsycophantin a real drawing-room.

Thisincident made the old Baronet roar with laughteras usual. He narrated the circumstance a dozen times toHorrocksin the course of the eveningand greatly to thediscomfitureof Miss Horrocks.  He thrummed on the tableas if ithad been a musical instrumentand squalled inimitationof her manner of singing.  He vowed that suchabeautiful voice ought to be cultivated and declared sheought tohave singing-mastersin which proposals shesawnothing ridiculous.  He was in great spirits that nightand drankwith his friend and butler an extraordinaryquantityof rum-and-water--at a very late hour thefaithfulfriend and domestic conducted his master to hisbedroom.

Half anhour afterwards there was a great hurry andbustle inthe house.  Lights went about from window towindow inthe lonely desolate old Hallwhereof but two orthreerooms were ordinarily occupied by its owner.Presentlya boy on a pony went galloping off to Mudburyto theDoctor's house there.  And in another hour (bywhich factwe ascertain how carefully the excellent Mrs.ButeCrawley had always kept up an understanding withthe greathouse)that lady in her clogs and calashtheReverendBute Crawleyand James Crawleyher sonhad walkedover from the Rectory through the parkandhadentered the mansion by the open hall-door.

Theypassed through the hall and the small oak parlouron thetable of which stood the three tumblers and theemptyrum-bottle which had served for Sir Pitt's carouseandthrough that apartment into Sir Pitt's studywherethey foundMiss Horrocksof the guilty ribbonswith awild airtrying at the presses and escritoires with abunch ofkeys.  She dropped them with a scream ofterroraslittle Mrs. Bute's eyes flashed out at her fromunder herblack calash.

"Lookat thatJames and Mr. Crawley?" cried Mrs.Butepointing at the scared figure of the black-eyedguiltywench.

"Hegave 'em me; he gave 'em me!" she cried.

"Gavethem youyou abandoned creature!" screamedMrs.Bute.  "Bear witnessMr. Crawleywe found thisgood-for-nothingwoman in the act of stealing yourbrother'sproperty; and she will be hangedas I alwayssaid shewould."

BetsyHorrocksquite dauntedflung herself down onher kneesbursting into tears.  But those who know a reallygood womanare aware that she is not in a hurry toforgiveand that the humiliation of an enemy is a triumphto hersoul.

"Ringthe bellJames" Mrs. Bute said.  "Go on ringing ittill thepeople come." The three or four domesticsresidentin the deserted old house came presently at thatjanglingand continued summons.

"Putthat woman in the strong-room" she said.  "Wecaught herin the act of robbing Sir Pitt.  Mr. Crawleyyou'llmake out her committal--andBeddoesyou'lldrive herover in the spring cartin the morningtoSouthamptonGaol."

"Mydear" interposed the Magistrate and Rector--"she'sonly--"

"Arethere no handcuffs?" Mrs. Bute continuedstampingin her clogs.  "There used to be handcuffs.Where'sthe creature's abominable father?"

"HeDID give 'em me" still cried poor Betsy; "didn'theHester? You saw Sir Pitt--you know you did--give 'emmeever so long ago--the day after Mudburyfair: not that I want 'em.  Take 'em if you think theyain'tmine." And here the unhappy wretch pulled outfrom herpocket a large pair of paste shoe-buckles whichhadexcited her admirationand which she had justappropriatedout of one of the bookcases in the studywhere theyhad lain.

"LawBetsyhow could you go for to tell such a wickedstory!"said Hesterthe little kitchen-maid late on herpromotion--"andto Madame Crawleyso good and kindand hisRev'rince (with a curtsey)and you may searchall MYboxesMumI'm sureand here's my keys as I'man honestgirlthough of pore parents and workhousebred--andif you find so much as a beggarly bit of laceor a silkstocking out of all the gownds as YOU'VE had thepickingofmay I never go to church agin."

"Giveup your keysyou hardened hussy" hissed outthevirtuous little lady in the calash.

"Andhere's a candleMumand if you pleaseMumI can showyou her roomMumand the press in thehousekeeper'sroomMumwhere she keeps heaps andheaps ofthingsMum" cried out the eager little Hesterwith aprofusion of curtseys.

"Holdyour tongueif you please.  I know the roomwhich thecreature occupies perfectly well.  Mrs. Brownhave thegoodness to come with meand Beddoes don'tyou losesight of that woman" said Mrs. Buteseizing thecandle. "Mr. Crawleyyou had better go upstairs andsee thatthey are not murdering your unfortunate brother"--and thecalashescorted by Mrs. Brownwalked awayto theapartment whichas she said trulyshe knewperfectlywell.

Bute wentupstairs and found the Doctor fromMudburywith the frightened Horrocks over his master in achair. They were trying to bleed Sir Pitt Crawley.

With theearly morning an express was sent off to Mr.PittCrawley by the Rector's ladywho assumed thecommand ofeverythingand had watched the old Baronetthroughthe night.  He had been brought back to a sort oflife; hecould not speakbut seemed to recognize people.Mrs. Butekept resolutely by his bedside.  She never seemedto want tosleepthat little womanand did not close herfieryblack eyes oncethough the Doctor snored in thearm-chair. Horrocks made some wild efforts to asserthisauthority and assist his master; but Mrs. Bute calledhim atipsy old wretch and bade him never show his faceagain inthat houseor he should be transported like hisabominabledaughter.

Terrifiedby her mannerhe slunk down to the oakparlourwhere Mr. James waswhohaving tried thebottlestanding there and found no liquor in itorderedMr.Horrocks to get another bottle of rumwhich hefetchedwith clean glassesand to which the Rector andhis sonsat downordering Horrocks to put down the keysat thatinstant and never to show his face again.

Cowed bythis behaviourHorrocks gave up the keysand he andhis daughter slunk off silently through thenight andgave up possession of the house of Queen'sCrawley.

CHAPTER XLInWhich Becky Is Recognized by the Family

The heirof Crawley arrived at homein due timeafterthiscatastropheand henceforth may be said to havereigned inQueen's Crawley.  For though the old Baronetsurvivedmany monthshe never recovered the use ofhisintellect or his speech completelyand the governmentof theestate devolved upon his elder son.  In astrangecondition Pitt found it.  Sir Pitt was always buyingandmortgaging; he had twenty men of businessandquarrelswith each; quarrels with all his tenantsandlawsuitswith them; lawsuits with the lawyers; lawsuitswith theMining and Dock Companies in which he wasproprietor;and with every person with whom he hadbusiness. To unravel these difficulties and to set theestateclear was a task worthy of the orderly andperseveringdiplomatist of Pumpernickeland he sethimself towork with prodigious assiduity.  His whole familyof coursewas transported to Queen's CrawleywhitherLadySouthdownof coursecame too; and she set aboutconvertingthe parish under the Rector's noseandbroughtdown her irregular clergy to the dismay of theangry MrsBute.  Sir Pitt had concluded no bargain forthe saleof the living of Queen's Crawley; when it shoulddropherLadyship proposed to take the patronage intoher ownhands and present a young protege to theRectoryon which subject the diplomatic Pitt saidnothing.

Mrs.Bute's intentions with regard to Miss BetsyHorrockswere not carried into effectand she paid no visittoSouthampton Gaol.  She and her father left the Hallwhen thelatter took possession of the Crawley Arms inthevillageof which he had got a lease from Sir Pitt.Theex-butler had obtained a small freehold therelikewisewhich gave him a vote for the borough.  The Rectorhadanother of these votesand these and four othersformed therepresentative body which returned the twomembersfor Queen's Crawley.

There wasa show of courtesy kept up between theRectoryand the Hall ladiesbetween the younger ones atleastforMrs. Bute and Lady Southdown never couldmeetwithout battlesand gradually ceased seeing eachother. Her Ladyship kept her room when the ladies fromtheRectory visited their cousins at the Hall.  Perhaps Mr.Pitt wasnot very much displeased at these occasionalabsencesof his mamma-in-law.  He believed the Binkiefamily tobe the greatest and wisest and most interestingin theworldand her Ladyship and his aunt had long heldascendencyover him; but sometimes he felt that shecommandedhim too much.  To be considered young wascomplimentarydoubtlessbut at six-and-forty to betreated asa boy was sometimes mortifying.  Lady Janeyielded upeverythinghoweverto her mother.  She wasonly fondof her children in privateand it was luckyfor herthat Lady Southdown's multifarious businessherconferenceswith ministersand her correspondence withall themissionaries of AfricaAsiaaud Australasia&c.occupiedthe venerable Countess a great dealso thatshe hadbut little time to devote to her granddaughterthe littleMatildaand her grandsonMaster Pitt Crawley.The latterwas a feeble childand it was only byprodigiousquantities of calomel that Lady Southdown wasable tokeep him in life at all.

As for SirPitt he retired into those very apartmentswhere LadyCrawley had been previously extinguishedand herewas tended by Miss Hesterthe girl upon herpromotionwith constant care and assiduity.  What lovewhatfidelitywhat constancy is there equal to that of anurse withgood wages? They smooth pillows; and makearrowroot;they get up at nights; they bear complaintsandquerulousness; they see the sun shining out of doorsand don'twant to go abroad; they sleep on arm-chairsand eattheir meals in solitude; they pass long longeveningsdoing nothingwatching the embersand thepatient'sdrink simmering in the jug; they read the weeklypaper thewhole week through; and Law's Serious Call orthe WholeDuty of Man suffices them for literature fortheyear--and we quarrel with them becausewhen theirrelationscome to see them once a weeka little ginissmuggled in in their linen basket.  Ladieswhat man'slove isthere that would stand a year's nursing of theobject ofhis affection? Whereas a nurse will stand by youfor tenpounds a quarterand we think her too highlypaid. At least Mr. Crawley grumbled a good deal aboutpayinghalf as much to Miss Hester for her constantattendanceupon the Baronet his father.

Ofsunshiny days this old gentleman was taken out in achair onthe terrace--the very chair which Miss Crawleyhad had atBrightonand which had been transportedthencewith a number of Lady Southdown's effects toQueen'sCrawley.  Lady Jane always walked by the oldmanandwas an evident favourite with him.  He used tonod manytimes to her and smile when she came inandutterinarticulate deprecatory moans when she was goingaway. When the door shut upon her he would cry andsob--whereuponHester's face and mannerwhich wasalwaysexceedingly bland and gentle while her lady waspresentwould change at onceand she would make facesat him andclench her fist and scream out "Hold yourtongueyou stoopid old fool" and twirl away his chairfrom thefire which he loved to look at--at which hewould crymore.  For this was all that was left after morethanseventy years of cunningand strugglinganddrinkingand schemingand sin and selfishness--awhimperingold idiot put in and out of bed and cleanedand fedlike a baby.

At last aday came when the nurse's occupation wasover. Early one morningas Pitt Crawley was at hissteward'sand bailiff's books in the studya knock cameto thedoorand Hester presented herselfdropping acurtseyand said

"Ifyou pleaseSir PittSir Pitt died this morningSirPitt. I was a-making of his toastSir Pittfor his gruelSir Pittwhich he took every morning regular at sixSirPittand--I thought I heard a moan-likeSir Pitt--and--and--and--"She dropped another curtsey.

What wasit that made Pitt's pale face flush quitered? Wasit because he was Sir Pitt at lastwith a seatinParliamentand perhaps future honours in prospect?"I'llclear the estate now with the ready money" hethoughtand rapidly calculated its incumbrances and theimprovementswhich he would make.  He would not use hisaunt'smoney previously lest Sir Pitt should recover andhis outlaybe in vain.

All theblinds were pulled down at the Hall and Rectory:the churchbell was tolledand the chancel hung inblack; andBute Crawley didn't go to a coursing meetingbut wentand dined quietly at Fuddlestonwheretheytalked about his deceased brother and young SirPitt overtheir port.  Miss Betsywho was by this timemarried toa saddler at Mudburycried a good deal.The familysurgeon rode over and paid his respectfulcomplimentsand inquiries for the health of theirladyships. The death was talked about at Mudbury and attheCrawley Armsthe landlord whereof had becomereconciledwith the Rector of latewho was occasionallyknown tostep into the parlour and taste Mr. Horrocks'mild beer.

"ShallI write to your brother--or will you?" askedLady Janeof her husbandSir Pitt.

"Iwill writeof course" Sir Pitt said"and invite himto thefuneral:  it will be but becoming."

"And--and--Mrs.Rawdon" said Lady Jane timidly.

"Jane!"said Lady Southdown"how can you think ofsuch athing?"

"Mrs.Rawdon must of course be asked" said Sir Pittresolutely.

"Notwhilst I am in the house!" said Lady Southdown.

"YourLadyship will be pleased to recollect that I amthe headof this family" Sir Pitt replied.  "If you pleaseLady Janeyou will write a letter to Mrs. RawdonCrawleyrequesting her presence upon this melancholyoccasion."

"JaneI forbid you to put pen to paper!" cried theCountess.

"Ibelieve I am the head of this family" Sir Pittrepeated;"and however much I may regret anycircumstancewhich may lead to your Ladyship quitting thishousemustif you pleasecontinue to govern it as I seefit."

LadySouthdown rose up as magnificent as Mrs. Siddonsin LadyMacbeth and ordered that horses might be putto hercarriage.  If her son and daughter turned her outof theirhouseshe would hide her sorrows somewhere inlonelinessand pray for their conversion to betterthoughts.

"Wedon't turn you out of our houseMamma" saidthe timidLady Jane imploringly.

"Youinvite such company to it as no Christian ladyshouldmeetand I will have my horses to-morrowmorning."

"Havethe goodness to writeJaneunder my dictation"said SirPittrising and throwing himself into an attitudeofcommandlike the portrait of a Gentleman in theExhibition"and begin.  'Queen's CrawleySeptember 141822.--Mydear brother--' "

Hearingthese decisive and terrible wordsLady Macbethwho hadbeen waiting for a sign of weakness orvacillationon the part of her son-in-lawrose andwith ascaredlookleft the library.  Lady Jane looked up toherhusband as if she would fain follow and soothe hermammabutPitt forbade his wife to move.

"Shewon't go away" he said.  "She has let her houseatBrighton and has spent her last half-year's dividends.A Countessliving at an inn is a ruined woman.  I havebeenwaiting long for an opportunity--to take this--thisdecisivestepmy love; foras you must perceiveit isimpossiblethat there should be two chiefs in a family:and nowif you pleasewe will resume the dictation.  'Mydearbrotherthe melancholy intelligence which it is myduty toconvey to my family must have been longanticipatedby' " &c.

In a wordPitt having come to his kingdomand havingby goodluckor desert ratheras he consideredassumedalmost allthe fortune which his other relativeshadexpectedwas determined to treat his family kindlyandrespectably and make a house of Queen's Crawleyoncemore.  It pleased him to think that he should be itschief. He proposed to use the vast influence that hiscommandingtalents and position must speedily acquirefor him inthe county to get his brother placed and hiscousinsdecently provided forand perhaps had a littlesting ofrepentance as he thought that he was theproprietorof all that they had hoped for.  In the course ofthree orfour days' reign his bearing was changed andhis plansquite fixed:  he determined to rule justly andhonestlyto depose Lady Southdownand to be on thefriendliestpossible terms with all the relations of hisblood.

So hedictated a letter to his brother Rawdon--a solemnandelaborate lettercontaining the profoundestobservationscouched in the longest wordsand filling withwonder thesimple little secretarywho wrote under herhusband'sorder.  "What an orator this will be" thoughtshe"whenhe enters the House of Commons" (on whichpointandon the tyranny of Lady SouthdownPitt hadsometimesdropped hints to his wife in bed); "how wiseand goodand what a genius my husband is!  I fanciedhim alittle cold; but how goodand what a genius!"

The factisPitt Crawley had got every word of theletter byheart and had studied itwith diplomaticsecrecydeeply and perfectlylong before he thought fit tocommunicateit to his astonished wife.

Thisletterwith a huge black border and sealwasaccordinglydespatched by Sir Pitt Crawley to his brothertheColonelin London.  Rawdon Crawley was buthalf-pleasedat the receipt of it.  "What's the use of goingdown tothat stupid place?" thought he.  "I can't standbeingalone with Pitt after dinnerand horses thereand backwill cost us twenty pound."

He carriedthe letteras he did all difficultiesto Beckyupstairsin her bedroom--with her chocolatewhich healwaysmade and took to her of a morning.

He put thetray with the breakfast and the letter onthedressing-tablebefore which Becky sat combing heryellowhair.  She took up the black-edged missiveandhavingread itshe jumped up from the chaircrying"Hurray!"and waving the note round her head.

"Hurray?"said Rawdonwondering at the little figurecaperingabout in a streaming flannel dressing-gownwithtawnylocks dishevelled.  "He's not left us anythingBecky. I had my share when I came of age."

"You'llnever be of ageyou silly old man" Beckyreplied. "Run out now to Madam Brunoy'sfor I musthave somemourning:  and get a crape on your hatand ablackwaistcoat--I don't think you've got one; order itto bebrought home to-morrowso that we may be ableto starton Thursday."

"Youdon't mean to go?" Rawdon interposed.

"Ofcourse I mean to go.  I mean that Lady Jane shallpresent meat Court next year.  I mean that your brothershall giveyou a seat in Parliamentyou stupid oldcreature. I mean that Lord Steyne shall have your vote andhismydearold silly man; and that you shall be an IrishSecretaryor a West Indian Governor:  or a Treasureror aConsulor some such thing."

"Postingwill cost a dooce of a lot of money" grumbledRawdon.

"Wemight take Southdown's carriagewhich ought tobe presentat the funeralas he is a relation of thefamily: butno--I intend that we shall go by the coach.They'lllike it better.  It seems more humble--"

"Rawdygoesof course?" the Colonel asked.

"Nosuch thing; why pay an extra place? He's too big totravelbodkin between you and me.  Let him stay here inthenurseryand Briggs can make him a black frock.  Goyouanddo as I bid you.  And you had best tell Sparksyour manthat old Sir Pitt is dead and that you willcome infor something considerable when the affairs arearranged. He'll tell this to Raggleswho has been pressingfor moneyand it will console poor Raggles." And soBeckybegan sipping her chocolate.

When thefaithful Lord Steyne arrived in the eveninghe foundBecky and her companionwho was no otherthan ourfriend Briggsbusy cuttingrippingsnippingandtearing all sorts of black stuffs available for themelancholyoccasion.

"MissBriggs and I are plunged in grief and despondencyfor thedeath of our Papa" Rebecca said.  "Sir PittCrawley isdeadmy lord.  We have been tearing our hairall themorningand now we are tearing up our oldclothes."

"OhRebeccahow can you--" was all that Briggs couldsay as sheturned up her eyes.

"OhRebeccahow can you--" echoed my Lord.  "Sothat oldscoundrel's deadis he? He might have been aPeer if hehad played his cards better.  Mr. Pitt had verynearlymade him; but he ratted always at the wrongtime. What an old Silenus it was!"

"Imight have been Silenus's widow" said Rebecca."Don'tyou rememberMiss Briggshow you peeped inat thedoor and saw old Sir Pitt on his knees to me?"MissBriggsour old friendblushed very much at thisreminiscenceand was glad when Lord Steyne orderedher to godownstairs and make him a cup of tea.

Briggs wasthe house-dog whom Rebecca had providedasguardian of her innocence and reputation.  Miss Crawleyhad lefther a little annuity.  She would have beencontent toremain in the Crawley family with Lady Janewho wasgood to her and to everybody; but LadySouthdowndismissed poor Briggs as quickly as decencypermitted;and Mr. Pitt (who thought himself much injuredby theuncalled-for generosity of his deceased relativetowards alady who had only been Miss Crawley'sfaithfulretainer a score of years) made no objection to thatexerciseof the dowager's authority.  Bowls and Firkinlikewisereceived their legacies and their dismissalsandmarriedand set up a lodging-houseaccording to thecustom oftheir kind.

Briggstried to live with her relations in the countrybut foundthat attempt was vain after the better societyto whichshe had been accustomed.  Briggs's friendssmalltradesmenin a country townquarrelled over MissBriggs'sforty pounds a year as eagerly and more openlythan MissCrawley's kinsfolk had for that lady'sinheritance. Briggs's brothera radical hatter and grocercalledhis sistera purse-proud aristocratbecause she would notadvance apart of her capital to stock his shop; and shewould havedone so most likelybut that their sisteradissentingshoemaker's ladyat variance with the hatterandgrocerwho went to another chapelshowed howtheirbrother was on the verge of bankruptcyand tookpossessionof Briggs for a while.  The dissentingshoemakerwanted Miss Briggs to send his son to collegeand make agentleman of him.  Between them the twofamiliesgot a great portion of her private savings out ofherandfinally she fled to London followed by theanathemasof bothand determined to seek for servitudeagain asinfinitely less onerous than liberty.  And advertisingin thepapers that a "Gentlewoman of agreeablemannersand accustomed to the best societywas anxiousto"&c.she took up her residence with Mr. Bowlsin HalfMoon Streetand waited the result of theadvertisement.

So it wasthat she fell in with Rebecca.  Mrs. Rawdon'sdashinglittle carriage and ponies was whirling down thestreet onedayjust as Miss BriggsfatiguedhadreachedMr. Bowls's doorafter a weary walk to theTimesOffice in the City to insert her advertisement forthe sixthtime.  Rebecca was drivingand at oncerecognizedthe gentlewoman with agreeable mannersandbeing aperfectly good-humoured womanas we haveseenandhaving a regard for Briggsshe pulled up theponies atthe doorstepsgave the reins to the groomandjumping outhad hold of both Briggs's handsbeforeshe of theagreeable manners had recovered from theshock ofseeing an old friend.

Briggscriedand Becky laughed a great deal andkissed thegentlewoman as soon as they got into thepassage;and thence into Mrs. Bowls's front parlourwiththe redmoreen curtainsand the round looking-glasswith thechained eagle abovegazing upon the back ofthe ticketin the window which announced "Apartmentsto Let."

Briggstold all her history amidst those perfectlyuncalled-forsobs and ejaculations of wonder with whichwomen ofher soft nature salute an old acquaintanceorregard arencontre in the street; for though people meetotherpeople every dayyet some there are who insistupondiscovering miracles; and womeneven though theyhavedisliked each otherbegin to cry when they meetdeploringand remembering the time when they lastquarrelled. Soin a wordBriggs told all her historyandBecky gavea narrative of her own lifewith her usualartlessnessand candour.

Mrs.Bowlslate Firkincame and listened grimly inthepassage to the hysterical sniffling and giggling whichwent on inthe front parlour.  Becky had never been afavouriteof hers.  Since the establishment of the marriedcouple inLondon they had frequented their formerfriends ofthe house of Ragglesand did not like thelatter'saccount of the Colonel's menage.  "I wouldn't trusthimRaggmy boy" Bowls remarked; and his wifewhen Mrs.Rawdon issued from the parlouronly salutedthe ladywith a very sour curtsey; and her fingerswere likeso many sausagescold and lifelesswhen sheheld themout in deference to Mrs. Rawdonwho persistedin shakinghands with the retired lady's maid.  She whirledaway intoPiccadillynodding with the sweetest of smilestowardsMiss Briggswho hung nodding at the windowcloseunder the advertisement-cardand at the nextmoment wasin the park with a half-dozen of dandiescanteringafter her carriage.

When shefound how her friend was situatedand howhaving asnug legacy from Miss Crawleysalary was noobject toour gentlewomanBecky instantly formed somebenevolentlittle domestic plans concerning her.  Thiswas justsuch a companion as would suit her establishmentand sheinvited Briggs to come to dinner with herthat veryeveningwhen she should see Becky's dear littledarlingRawdon.

Mrs. Bowlscautioned her lodger against venturing intothe lion'sden"wherein you will rue itMiss B.mark mywordsandas sure as my name is Bowls." And Briggspromisedto be very cautious.  The upshot of whichcautionwas that she went to live with Mrs. Rawdon the nextweekandhad lent Rawdon Crawley six hundred poundsuponannuity before six months were over.

CHAPTERXLIInWhich Becky Revisits the Halls of Her Ancestors

So themourning being readyand Sir Pitt Crawley warnedof theirarrivalColonel Crawley and his wife took acouple ofplaces in the same old High-flyer coach bywhichRebecca had travelled in the defunct Baronet'scompanyon her first journey into the world some nineyearsbefore.  How well she remembered the Inn Yardand theostler to whom she refused moneyand theinsinuatingCambridge lad who wrapped her in his coat onthejourney!  Rawdon took his place outsideand wouldhave likedto drivebut his grief forbade him.  He sat bythecoachman and talked about horses and the road thewhole way;and who kept the innsand who horsed thecoach bywhich he had travelled so many a timewhenhe andPitt were boys going to Eton.  At Mudbury acarriageand a pair of horses received themwith acoachmanin black.  "It's the old dragRawdon" Rebecca saidas theygot in.  "The worms have eaten the cloth a gooddeal--there'sthe stain which Sir Pitt--ha!  I see DawsontheIronmonger has his shutters up--which Sir Pitt madesuch anoise about.  It was a bottle of cherry brandy hebrokewhich we went to fetch for your aunt fromSouthampton. How time fliesto be sure!  That can't be PollyTalboysthat bouncing girl standing by her mother atthecottage there.  I remember her a mangy little urchinpickingweeds in the garden."

"Finegal" said Rawdonreturning the salute which thecottagegave himby two fingers applied to his crapehatband. Becky bowed and salutedand recognizedpeoplehere and there graciously.  These recognitions wereinexpressiblypleasant to her.  It seemed as if she wasnot animposter any moreand was coming to the homeof herancestors.  Rawdon was rather abashed and castdownonthe other hand.  What recollections of boyhoodandinnocence might have been flitting across his brain?What pangsof dim remorse and doubt and shame?

"Yoursisters must be young women now" Rebeccasaidthinking of those girls for the first time perhapssince shehad left them.

"Don'tknowI'm shaw" replied the Colonel.  "Hullo!here's oldMother Lock.  How-dy-doMrs. Lock? Remembermedon'tyou? Master Rawdonhey? Dammy howthose oldwomen last; she was a hundred when I was aboy."

They weregoing through the lodge-gates kept by oldMrs. Lockwhose hand Rebecca insisted upon shakingas sheflung open the creaking old iron gateand thecarriagepassed between the two moss-grown pillarssurmountedby the dove and serpent.

"Thegovernor has cut into the timber" Rawdon saidlookingaboutand then was silent--so was Becky.  Bothof themwere rather agitatedand thinking of old times.He aboutEtonand his motherwhom he remembereda frigiddemure womanand a sister who diedof whomhe hadbeen passionately fond; and how he used to thrashPitt; andabout little Rawdy at home.  And Rebeccathoughtabout her own youth and the dark secrets ofthoseearly tainted days; and of her entrance into lifeby yondergates; and of Miss Pinkertonand JoeandAmelia.

The gravelwalk and terrace had been scraped quiteclean. A grand painted hatchment was already over thegreatentranceand two very solemn and tall personagesin blackflung open each a leaf of the door as thecarriagepulled up at the familiar steps.  Rawdon turned redand Beckysomewhat paleas they passed through theold hallarm in arm.  She pinched her husband's armas theyentered the oak parlourwhere Sir Pitt and hiswife wereready to receive them.  Sir Pitt in blackLadyJane inblackand my Lady Southdown with a large blackhead-pieceof bugles and featherswhich waved on herLadyship'shead like an undertaker's tray.

Sir Pitthad judged correctlythat she would not quitthepremises.  She contented herself by preserving asolemn andstony silencewhen in company of Pitt andhisrebellious wifeand by frightening the children inthenursery by the ghastly gloom of her demeanour.Only avery faint bending of the head-dress and plumeswelcomedRawdon and his wifeas those prodigalsreturnedto their family.

To say thetruththey were not affected very muchone way orother by this coolness.  Her Ladyship was apersononly of secondary consideration in their mindsjustthen--they were intent upon the reception whichthereigning brother and sister would afford them.

Pittwithrather a heightened colourwent up andshook hisbrother by the handand saluted Rebecca withahand-shake and a very low bow.  But Lady Jane took boththe handsof her sister-in-law and kissed her affectionately.Theembrace somehow brought tears into the eyes ofthe littleadventuress--which ornamentsas we knowshe worevery seldom.  The artless mark of kindness andconfidencetouched and pleased her; and Rawdonencouragedby this demonstration on his sister's parttwirled uphis mustachios and took leave to salute LadyJane witha kisswhich caused her Ladyship to blushexceedingly.

"Dev'lishnice little womanLady Jane" was his verdictwhen heand his wife were together again.  "Pitt's got fattooandis doing the thing handsomely." "He can affordit"said Rebecca and agreed in her husband's fartheropinion"that the mother-in-law was a tremendous oldGuy--andthat the sisters were rather well-lookingyoungwomen."

Theytoohad been summoned from school to attendthefuneral ceremonies.  It seemed Sir Pitt Crawleyforthedignity of the house and familyhad thought right tohave aboutthe place as many persons in black as couldpossiblybe assembled.  All the men and maids of thehousetheold women of the Alms Housewhom the elderSir Pitthad cheated out of a great portion of theirduetheparish clerk's familyand the special retainersof bothHall and Rectory were habited in sable; added tothesetheundertaker's menat least a scorewith crapesandhatbandsand who made goodly show when thegreatburying show took place--but these are mutepersonagesin our drama; and having nothing to do or sayneedoccupy a very little space here.

Withregard to her sisters-in-law Rebecca did notattempt toforget her former position of Governesstowardsthembut recalled it frankly and kindlyand askedthem abouttheir studies with great gravityand told themthat shehad thought of them many and many a dayand longedto know of their welfare.  In fact you wouldhavesupposed that ever since she had left them she hadnot ceasedto keep them uppermost in her thoughts and totake thetenderest interest in their welfare.  So supposedLadyCrawley herself and her young sisters.

"She'shardly changed since eight years" said MissRosalindto Miss Violetas they were preparing for dinner.

"Thosered-haired women look wonderfully well"repliedthe other.

"Hersis much darker than it was; I think she must dyeit"Miss Rosalind added.  "She is stoutertooandaltogetherimproved" continued Miss Rosalindwho wasdisposedto be very fat.

"Atleast she gives herself no airs and remembers thatshe wasour Governess once" Miss Violet saidintimatingthat itbefitted all governesses to keep their proper placeandforgetting altogether that she was granddaughter notonly ofSir Walpole Crawleybut of Mr. Dawson ofMudburyand so had a coal-scuttle in her scutcheon.  Thereare othervery well-meaning people whom one meetsevery dayin Vanity Fair who are surely equally oblivious.

"Itcan't be true what the girls at the Rectory saidthather motherwas an opera-dancer--"

"Aperson can't help their birth" Rosalind replied withgreatliberality.  "And I agree with our brotherthat as sheis in thefamilyof course we are bound to notice her.I am sureAunt Bute need not talk; she wants to marryKate toyoung Hooperthe wine-merchantand absolutelyasked himto come to the Rectory for orders."

"Iwonder whether Lady Southdown will go awayshelookedvery glum upon Mrs. Rawdon" the other said.

"Iwish she would.  I won't read the WasherwomanofFinchley Common" vowed Violet; and so sayingandavoiding apassage at the end of which a certain coffin wasplacedwith a couple of watchersand lights perpetuallyburning inthe closed roomthese young women camedown tothe family dinnerfor which the bell rang asusual.

But beforethisLady Jane conducted Rebecca to theapartmentsprepared for herwhichwith the rest of thehousehadassumed a very much improved appearanceof orderand comfort during Pitt's regencyand herebeholdingthat Mrs. Rawdon's modest little trunks hadarrivedand were placed in the bedroom anddressing-roomadjoininghelped her to take off her neatblackbonnet and cloakand asked her sister-in-law inwhat moreshe could be useful.

"WhatI should like best" said Rebecca"would be togo to thenursery and see your dear little children." Onwhich thetwo ladies looked very kindly at each otherand wentto that apartment hand in hand.

Beckyadmired little Matildawho was not quite fouryears oldas the most charming little love in the world;and theboya little fellow of two years--paleheavy-eyedandlarge-headed--she pronounced to be a perfectprodigy inpoint of sizeintelligenceand beauty.

"Iwish Mamma would not insist on giving him so muchmedicine"Lady Jane said with a sigh.  "I often think weshould allbe better without it." And then Lady Jane andhernew-found friend had one of those confidential medicalconversationsabout the childrenwhich all mothersand mostwomenas I am given to understanddelight in.Fiftyyears agoand when the present writerbeing aninterestinglittle boywas ordered out of the room withthe ladiesafter dinnerI remember quite well that theirtalk waschiefly about their ailments; and putting thisquestiondirectly to two or three sinceI have always gotfrom themthe acknowledgement that times are notchanged. Let my fair readers remark for themselves thisveryevening when they quit the dessert-table andassembleto celebrate the drawing-room mysteries.  Well--in halfan hour Becky and Lady Jane were close andintimatefriends--and in the course of the evening herLadyshipinformed Sir Pitt that she thought her newsister-in-lawwas a kindfrankunaffectedand affectionateyoungwoman.

And sohaving easily won the daughter's good-willtheindefatigablelittle woman bent herself to conciliate theaugustLady Southdown.  As soon as she found her LadyshipaloneRebecca attacked her on the nursery questionat onceand said that her own little boy was savedactuallysavedby calomelfreely administeredwhen all thephysiciansin Paris had given the dear child up.  And thenshementioned how often she had heard of Lady Southdownfrom thatexcellent man the Reverend LawrenceGrillsMinister of the chapel in May Fairwhich shefrequented;and how her views were very much changedbycircumstances and misfortunes; and how she hoped thata pastlife spent in worldliness and error might notincapacitateher from more serious thought for the future.Shedescribed how in former days she had been indebtedto Mr.Crawley for religious instructiontouched upontheWasherwoman of Finchley Commonwhich she hadread withthe greatest profitand asked about LadyEmilyitsgifted authornow Lady Emily HornbloweratCape Townwhere her husband had strong hopes ofbecomingBishop of Caffraria.

But shecrowned alland confirmed herself in LadySouthdown'sfavourby feeling very much agitated andunwellafter the funeral and requesting her Ladyship'smedicaladvicewhich the Dowager not only gavebutwrapped upin a bed-gown and looking more like LadyMacbeththan evercame privately in the night to Becky'sroom witha parcel of favourite tractsand a medicineof her owncompositionwhich she insisted that Mrs.Rawdonshould take.

Beckyfirst accepted the tracts and began to examinethem withgreat interestengaging the Dowager in aconversationconcerning them and the welfare of her soulby whichmeans she hoped that her body might escapemedication. But after the religious topics were exhaustedLadyMacbeth would not quit Becky's chamber until hercup ofnight-drink was emptied too; and poor Mrs. Rawdonwascompelled actually to assume a look of gratitudeandto swallowthe medicine under the unyielding old Dowager'snosewholeft her victim finally with a benediction.

It did notmuch comfort Mrs. Rawdon; her countenancewas veryqueer when Rawdon came in and heard whathadhappened; and.  his explosions of laughter were asloud asusualwhen Beckywith a fun which she couldnotdisguiseeven though it was at her own expensedescribedthe occurrence and how she had been victimizedby LadySouthdown.  Lord Steyneand her son inLondonhad many a laugh over the story when Rawdonand hiswife returned to their quarters in May Fair.  Beckyacted thewhole scene for them.  She put on a night-capand gown. She preached a great sermon in the true seriousmanner;she lectured on the virtue of the medicinewhich shepretended to administerwith a gravity ofimitationso perfect that you would have thought it wastheCountess's own Roman nose through which she snuffled."Giveus Lady Southdown and the black dose" wasa constantcry amongst the folks in Becky's littledrawing-roomin May Fair.  And for the first time in herlife theDowager Countess of Southdown was made amusing.

Sir Pittremembered the testimonies of respect andvenerationwhich Rebecca had paid personally to himselfin earlydaysand was tolerably well disposed towardsher. The marriageill-advised as it washad improvedRawdonvery much--that was clear from the Colonel'salteredhabits and demeanour--and had it not been aluckyunion as regarded Pitt himself? The cunningdiplomatistsmiled inwardly as he owned that he owed hisfortune toitand acknowledged that he at least ought notto cry outagainst it.  His satisfaction was not removedbyRebecca's own statementsbehaviourandconversation.

Shedoubled the deference which before had charmedhimcalling out his conversational powers in such amanner asquite to surprise Pitt himselfwhoalwaysinclinedto respect his own talentsadmired them the morewhenRebecca pointed them out to him.  With hersister-in-lawRebecca was satisfactorily able to prove that itwas Mrs.Bute Crawley who brought about the marriagewhich sheafterwards so calumniated; that it was Mrs.Bute'savarice--who hoped to gain all Miss Crawley'sfortuneand deprive Rawdon of his aunt's favour--whichcaused andinvented all the wicked reports againstRebecca. "She succeeded in making us poor" Rebeccasaid withan air of angelical patience; "but how can Ibe angrywith a woman who has given me one of the besthusbandsin the world? And has not her own avaricebeensufficiently punished by the ruin of her own hopes andthe lossof the property by which she set so muchstore?Poor!" she cried.  "Dear Lady Janewhat care weforpoverty? I am used to it from childhoodand I amoftenthankful that Miss Crawley's money has gone torestorethe splendour of the noble old family of whichI am soproud to be a member.  I am sure Sir Pitt willmake amuch better use of it than Rawdon would."

All thesespeeches were reported to Sir Pitt by themostfaithful of wivesand increased the favourableimpressionwhich Rebecca made; so much so that whenon thethird day after the funeralthe family party wereat dinnerSir Pitt Crawleycarving fowls at the head ofthe tableactually said to Mrs. Rawdon"Ahem!  Rebeccamay I giveyou a wing?"--a speech which made the littlewoman'seyes sparkle with pleasure.

WhileRebecca was prosecuting the above schemes andhopesandPitt Crawley arranging the funeral ceremonialand othermatters connected with his future progress anddignityand Lady Jane busy with her nurseryas far asher motherwould let herand the sun rising and settingand theclock-tower bell of the Hall ringing to dinner andto prayersas usualthe body of the late owner of Queen'sCrawleylay in the apartment which he had occupiedwatchedunceasingly by the professional attendants whowereengaged for that rite.  A woman or twoand threeor fourundertaker's menthe best whom Southamptoncouldfurnishdressed in blackand of a proper stealthyandtragical demeanourhad charge of the remains whichtheywatched turn abouthaving the housekeeper's roomfor theirplace of rendezvous when off dutywhere theyplayed atcards in privacy and drank their beer.

Themembers of the family and servants of the housekept awayfrom the gloomy spotwhere the bones of thedescendantof an ancient line of knights and gentlemenlayawaiting their final consignment to the family crypt.No regretsattended themsave those of the poor womanwho hadhoped to be Sir Pitt's wife and widow and whohad fledin disgrace from the Hall over which she had sonearlybeen a ruler.  Beyond her and a favourite old pointerhe hadand between whom and himself an attachmentsubsistedduring the period of his imbecilitythe old manhad not asingle friend to mourn himhaving indeedduring thewhole course of his lifenever taken the leastpains tosecure one.  Could the best and kindest of us whodepartfrom the earth have an opportunity of revisitingitIsuppose he or she (assuming that any Vanity Fairfeelingssubsist in the sphere whither we are bound)would havea pang of mortification at finding how soonoursurvivors were consoled.  And so Sir Pitt wasforgotten--likethe kindest and best of us--only a fewweekssooner.

Those whowill may follow his remains to the gravewhitherthey were borne on the appointed dayin the mostbecomingmannerthe family in black coacheswith theirhandkerchiefsup to their nosesready for the tears whichdid notcome; the undertaker and his gentlemen in deeptribulation;the select tenantry mourning out ofcomplimentto the new landlord; the neighbouring gentry'scarriagesat three miles an houremptyand in profoundaffliction;the parson speaking out the formula about "ourdearbrother departed." As long as we have a man's bodywe playour Vanities upon itsurrounding it withhumbug andceremonieslaying it in stateand packing itup in giltnails and velvet; and we finish our duty byplacingover it a stonewritten all over with lies.  Bute'scurateasmart young fellow from Oxfordand Sir PittCrawleycomposed between them an appropriate Latinepitaphfor the late lamented Baronetand the formerpreached aclassical sermonexhorting the survivors notto giveway to grief and informing them in the mostrespectfulterms that they also would be one day calledupon topass that gloomy and mysterious portal which hadjustclosed upon the remains of their lamented brother.Then thetenantry mounted on horseback againor stayedandrefreshed themselves at the Crawley Arms.  Thenafter alunch in the servants' hall at Queen's Crawleythegentry's carriages wheeled off to their differentdestinations: then the undertaker's mentaking the ropespallsvelvetsostrich feathersand other mortuarypropertiesclambered up on the roof of the hearse and rodeoff toSouthampton.  Their faces relapsed into a naturalexpressionas the horsesclearing the lodge-gatesgot intoa briskertrot on the open road; and squads of themmight havebeen seenspeckling with black thepublic-houseentranceswith pewter-pots flashing in thesunshine. Sir Pitt's invalid chair was wheeled away into atool-housein the garden; the old pointer used to howlsometimesat firstbut these were the only accents ofgriefwhich were heard in the Hall of which Sir PittCrawleyBaronethad been master for some threescore years.

As thebirds were pretty plentifuland partridge shootingis as itwere the duty of an English gentleman ofstatesmanlikepropensitiesSir Pitt Crawleythe first shock ofgriefoverwent out a little and partook of that diversionin a whitehat with crape round it.  The sight of those fieldsof stubbleand turnipsnow his owngave him many secretjoys. Sometimesand with an exquisite humilityhetook nogunbut went out with a peaceful bamboo cane;Rawdonhis big brotherand the keepers blazing away athis side. Pitt's money and acres had a great effect uponhisbrother.  The penniless Colonel became quite obsequiousandrespectful to the head of his houseand despisedthemilksop Pitt no longer.  Rawdon listened with sympathyto hissenior's prospects of planting and draininggavehis adviceabout the stables and cattlerodeover toMudbury to look at a marewhich he thoughtwouldcarry Lady Janeand offered to break her&c.: the rebellious dragoon was quite humbled andsubduedand became a most creditable younger brother.  Hehadconstant bulletins from Miss Briggs in Londonrespectinglittle Rawdonwho was left behind therewhosentmessages of his own.  "I am very well" he wrote. "Ihope youare very well.  I hope Mamma is very well.  Thepony isvery well.  Grey takes me to ride in the park.I cancanter.  I met the little boy who rode before.  Hecried whenhe cantered.  I do not cry." Rawdon read theseletters tohis brother and Lady Janewho was delightedwiththem.  The Baronet promised to take charge of the ladat schooland his kind-hearted wife gave Rebecca abank-notebegging her to buy a present with it for her littlenephew.

One dayfollowed anotherand the ladies of the housepassedtheir life in those calm pursuits and amusementswhichsatisfy country ladies.  Bells rang to meals andtoprayers.  The young ladies took exercise on thepianoforteevery morning after breakfastRebecca givingthem thebenefit of her instruction.  Then they put on thickshoes andwalked in the park or shrubberiesor beyondthepalings into the villagedescending upon the cottageswith LadySouthdown's medicine and tracts for thesickpeople there.  Lady Southdown drove out in apony-chaisewhen Rebecca would take her place by theDowager'sside and listen to her solemn talk with the utmostinterest. She sang Handel and Haydn to the family ofeveningsand engaged in a large piece of worsted workas ifshe hadbeen born to the business and as if this kindof lifewas to continue with her until she should sink tothe gravein a polite old ageleaving regrets and a greatquantityof consols behind her--as if there were not caresand dunsschemesshiftsand poverty waiting outsidethe parkgatesto pounce upon her when she issued intothe worldagain.

"Itisn't difficult to be a country gentleman's wife"Rebeccathought.  "I think I could be a good woman ifI had fivethousand a year.  I could dawdle about in thenurseryand count the apricots on the wall.  I could waterplants ina green-house and pick off dead leaves from thegeraniums. I could ask old women about their rheumatismsand orderhalf-a-crown's worth of soup forthe poor. I shouldn't miss it muchout of five thousanda year. I could even drive out ten miles to dine at aneighbour'sand dress in the fashions of the year before last.I could goto church and keep awake in the great familypewor goto sleep behind the curtainswith my veildownif Ionly had practice.  I could pay everybodyifI had butthe money.  This is what the conjurors herepridethemselves upon doing.  They look down with pityupon usmiserable sinners who have none.  They thinkthemselvesgenerous if they give our children a five-poundnoteandus contemptible if we are without one." Andwho knowsbut Rebecca was right in her speculations--and thatit was only a question of money and fortunewhich madethe difference between her and an honestwoman? Ifyou take temptations into accountwho is tosay thathe is better than his neighbour? A comfortablecareer ofprosperityif it does not make people honestatleastkeeps them so.  An alderman coming from a turtlefeast willnot step out of his carnage to steal a leg ofmutton;but put him to starveand see if he will notpurloin aloaf.  Becky consoled herself by so balancing thechancesand equalizing the distribution of good and evilin theworld.

The oldhauntsthe old fields and woodsthe copsespondsandgardensthe rooms of the old house whereshe hadspent a couple of years seven years agowere allcarefullyrevisited by her.  She had been young thereorcomparativelysofor she forgot the time when she everWASyoung--but she remembered her thoughts andfeelingsseven years back and contrasted them with thosewhich shehad at presentnow that she had seen theworldandlived with great peopleand raised herself farbeyond heroriginal humble station.

"Ihave passed beyond itbecause I have brains" Beckythought"and almost all the rest of the world are fools.I couldnot go back and consort with those people nowwhom Iused to meet in my father's studio.  Lords come upto my doorwith stars and gartersinstead of poorartistswith screws of tobacco in their pockets.  I have agentlemanfor my husbandand an Earl's daughter for mysisterinthe very house where I was little better than aservant afew years ago.  But am I much better to do nowin theworld than I was when I was the poor painter'sdaughterand wheedled the grocer round the corner forsugar andtea? Suppose I had married Francis who wasso fond ofme--I couldn't have been much poorer thanI am now. Heigho!  I wish I could exchange my positioninsocietyand all my relations for a snug sum in theThree PerCent.  Consols"; for so it was that Becky feltthe Vanityof human affairsand it was in those securitiesthat shewould have liked to cast anchor.

It mayperhapshave struck her that to have beenhonest andhumbleto have done her dutyand to havemarchedstraightforward on her waywould have broughther asnear happiness as that path by which she wasstrivingto attain it.  But--just as the children at Queen'sCrawleywent round the room where the body of theirfatherlay--if ever Becky had these thoughtsshe wasaccustomedto walk round them and not look in.  Sheeludedthem and despised them--or at least she wascommittedto the other path from which retreat was nowimpossible. And for my part I believe that remorse is theleastactive of all a man's moral senses--the very easiest tobedeadened when wakenedand in some never wakenedat all. We grieve at being found out and at the idea ofshame orpunishmentbut the mere sense of wrong makesvery fewpeople unhappy in Vanity Fair.

SoRebeccaduring her stay at Queen's Crawleymade asmanyfriends of the Mammon of Unrighteousness as shecouldpossibly bring under control.  Lady Jane and herhusbandbade her farewell with the warmestdemonstrationsof good-will.  They looked forward withpleasureto the time whenthe family house in GauntStreetbeing repaired and beautifiedthey were to meetagain inLondon.  Lady Southdown made her up a packet ofmedicineand sent a letter by her to the Rev.  LawrenceGrillsexhorting that gentleman to save the brand who"honoured"the letter from the burning.  Pitt accompaniedthem withfour horses in the carriage to Mudburyhavingsent ontheir baggage in a cart previouslyaccompaniedwith loadsof game.

"Howhappy you will be to see your darling little boyagain!"Lady Crawley saidtaking leave of her kinswoman.

"Ohso happy!" said Rebeccathrowing up the green eyes.She wasimmensely happy to be free of the placeand yetloath togo.  Queen's Crawley was abominably stupidandyet theair there was somehow purer than that which shehad beenaccustomed to breathe.  Everybody had been dullbut hadbeen kind in their way.  "It is all the influence of alongcourse of Three Per Cents" Becky said to herselfandwas rightvery likely.

Howeverthe London lamps flashed joyfully as the stagerolledinto Piccadillyand Briggs had made a beautiful firein CurzonStreetand little Rawdon was up to welcomeback hispapa and mamma.

CHAPTERXLIIWhichTreats of the Osborne Family

Considerabletime has elapsed since we have seen ourrespectablefriendold Mr. Osborne of Russell Square.  Hehas notbeen the happiest of mortals since last we met him.Eventshave occurred which have not improved histemperand in more in stances than one he has not beenallowed tohave his own way.  To be thwarted in thisreasonabledesire was always very injurious to the oldgentleman;and resistance became doubly exasperatingwhen goutagelonelinessand the force of manydisappointmentscombined to weigh him down.  His stiffblack hairbegan to grow quite white soon after his son'sdeath;his-face grew redder; his hands trembled more andmore as hepoured out his glass of port wine.  He led hisclerks adire life in the City:  his family at home were notmuchhappier.  I doubt if Rebeccawhom we have seenpiouslypraying for Consolswould have exchanged herpovertyand the dare-devil excitement and chances of herlife forOsborne's money and the humdrum gloom whichenvelopedhim.  He had proposed for Miss Swartzbut hadbeenrejected scornfully by the partisans of that ladywhomarriedher to a young sprig of Scotch nobility.  He was aman tohave married a woman out of low life and bulliedherdreadfully afterwards; but no person presented herselfsuitableto his tasteandinsteadhe tyrannized over hisunmarrieddaughterat home.  She had a fine carriage andfinehorses and sat at the head of a table loaded with thegrandestplate.  She had a cheque-booka prize footman tofollow herwhen she walkedunlimited creditand bowsandcompliments from all the tradesmenand all theappurtenancesof an heiress; but she spent a woeful time.The littlecharity-girls at the Foundlingthe sweeperess atthecrossingthe poorest under-kitchen-maid in theservants'hallwas happy compared to that unfortunateand nowmiddle-aged young lady.

FrederickBullockEsq.of the house of BullockHulkerandBullockhad married Maria Osbornenot without a greatdeal ofdifficulty and grumbling on Mr. Bullock's part.Georgebeing dead and cut out of his father's willFrederickinsisted that the half of the old gentleman'spropertyshould be settled upon his Mariaand indeedfora longtimerefused"to come to the scratch" (it was Mr.Frederick'sown expression) on any other terms.  Osbornesaid Fredhad agreed to take his daughter with twentythousandand he should bind himself to no more.  "Fredmight takeitand welcomeor leave itand go and behanged."Fredwhose hopes had been raised when Georgehad beendisinheritedthought himself infamouslyswindledby the old merchantand for some time made asif hewould break off the match altogether.  Osbornewithdrewhis account from Bullock and Hulker'swent on'Changewith a horsewhip which he swore he would layacross theback of a certain scoundrel that should benamelessand demeaned himself in his usual violentmanner. Jane Osborne condoled with her sister Mariaduringthis family feud.  "I always told youMariathat itwas yourmoney he loved and not you" she saidsoothingly.

"Heselected me and my money at any rate; he didn'tchoose youand yours" replied Mariatossing up her head.

Therapture washoweveronly temporary.  Fred's fatherand seniorpartners counselled him to take Mariaevenwith thetwenty thousand settledhalf downand half atthe deathof Mr. Osbornewith the chances of the furtherdivisionof the property.  So he "knuckled down" again touse hisown phraseand sent old Hulker with peaceableoverturesto Osborne.  It was his fatherhe saidwho wouldnot hearof the matchand had made the difficulties; hewas mostanxious to keep the engagement.  The excuse wassulkilyaccepted by Mr. Osborne.  Hulker and Bullock werea highfamily of the City aristocracyand connected withthe "nobs"at the West End.  It was something for the oldman to beable to say"My sonsirof the house of HulkerBullockand Co.sir; my daughter's cousinLady MaryMangosirdaughter of the Right Hon.  The Earl ofCastlemouldy."In his imagination he saw his housepeopled bythe "nobs." So he forgave young Bullock andconsentedthat the marriage should take place.

It was agrand affair--the bridegroom's relatives giving thebreakfasttheir habitations being near St.  George'sHanoverSquarewhere the business took place.  The "nobsof theWest End" were invitedand many of them signedthe book. Mr. Mango and Lady Mary Mango were therewith thedear young Gwendoline and Guinever Mango asbridesmaids;Colonel Bludyer of the Dragoon Guards (eldestson of thehouse of Bludyer BrothersMincing Lane)anothercousin of the bridegroomand the Honourable Mrs.Bludyer;the Honourable George BoulterLord Levant's sonand hisladyMiss Mango that was; Lord ViscountCastletoddy;Honourable James McMull and Mrs. McMull(formerlyMiss Swartz); and a host of fashionableswhohave allmarried into Lombard Street and done a greatdeal toennoble Cornhill.

The youngcouple had a house near Berkeley Square and asmallvilla at Roehamptonamong the banking colonythere. Fred was considered to have made rather amesallianceby the ladies of his familywhose grandfatherhad beenin a Charity Schooland who were allied throughthehusbands with some of the best blood in England.  AndMaria wasboundby superior pride and great care in thecompositionof her visiting-bookto make up for thedefects ofbirthand felt it her duty to see her father andsister aslittle as possible.

That sheshould utterly break with the old manwho hadstill somany scores of thousand pounds to give awayisabsurd tosuppose.  Fred Bullock would never allow her todo that. But she was still young and incapable of hiding herfeelings;and by inviting her papa and sister to her third-ratepartiesand behaving very coldly to them when theycameandby avoiding Russell Squareand indiscreetlybeggingher father to quit that odious vulgar placeshe didmore harmthan all Frederick's diplomacy could repairandperilledher chance of her inheritance like a giddy heedlesscreatureas she was.

So RussellSquare is not good enough for Mrs. Mariahay?"said theold gentlemanrattling up the carriage windows ashe and hisdaughter drove away one night from Mrs.FrederickBullock'safter dinner.  "So she invites her fatherand sisterto a second day's dinner (if those sidesorontrysasshe calls 'emweren't served yesterdayI'md--d)andto meet City folks and littery menand keepsthe Earlsand the Ladiesand the Honourables to herself.Honourables?Damn Honourables.  I am a plain Britishmerchant Iamand could buy the beggarly hounds overand over. Lordsindeed!--whyat one of her swarreys Isaw one of'em speak to a dam fiddler--a fellar I despise.And theywon't come to Russell Squarewon't they? WhyI'll laymy life I've got a better glass of wineand pay abetterfigure for itand can show a handsomer service ofsilverand can lay a better dinner on my mahoganythanever theysee on theirs--the cringingsneakingstuck-upfools. Drive on quickJames:  I want to get back to RussellSquare--haha!" and he sank back into the corner with afuriouslaugh.  With such reflections on his own superiormerititwas the custom of the old gentleman notunfrequentlyto console himself.

JaneOsborne could not but concur in these opinionsrespectingher sister's conduct; and when Mrs. Frederick'sfirst-bornFrederick Augustus Howard Stanley DevereuxBullockwas bornold Osbornewho was invited to thechristeningand to be godfathercontented himself withsendingthe child a gold cupwith twenty guineas inside itfor thenurse.  "That's more than any of your Lords willgiveI'LLwarrant" he said and refused to attend at theceremony.

Thesplendour of the gifthowevercaused greatsatisfactionto the house of Bullock.  Maria thought that herfather wasvery much pleased with herand Frederickauguredthe best for his little son and heir.

One canfancy the pangs with which Miss Osborne in hersolitudein Russell Square read the Morning Postwherehersister's name occurred every now and thenin thearticlesheaded "Fashionable Reunions" and where she hadanopportunity of reading a description of Mrs. F.  Bullock'scostumewhen presented at the drawing room by LadyFredericaBullock.  Jane's own lifeas we have saidadmittedof no such grandeur.  It was an awful existence.She had toget up of black winter's mornings to makebreakfastfor her scowling old fatherwho would haveturned thewhole house out of doors if his tea had not beenready athalf-past eight.  She remained silent opposite tohimlistening to the urn hissingand sitting in tremorwhile theparent read his paper and consumed hisaccustomedportion of muffins and tea.  At half-past ninehe roseand went to the Cityand she was almost free tilldinner-timeto make visitations in the kitchen and to scoldtheservants; to drive abroad and descend upon thetradesmenwho were prodigiously respectful; to leave hercards andher papa's at the great glum respectable housesof theirCity friends; or to sit alone in the large drawing-roomexpecting visitors; and working at a huge piece ofworsted bythe fireon the sofahard by the greatIphigeniaclockwhich ticked and tolled with mournfulloudnessin the dreary room.  The great glass over themantelpiecefaced by the other great console glass at theoppositeend of the roomincreased and multipliedbetweenthem the brown Holland bag in which thechandelierhunguntil you saw these brown Holland bagsfadingaway in endless perspectivesand this apartment ofMissOsborne's seemed the centre of a system ofdrawing-rooms. When she removed the cordovan leatherfrom thegrand piano and ventured to play a few notes onititsounded with a mournful sadnessstartling the dismalechoes ofthe house.  George's picture was goneand laidupstairsin a lumber-room in the garret; and though therewas aconsciousness of himand father and daughter ofteninstinctivelyknew that they were thinking of himnomentionwas ever made of the brave and once darling son.

At fiveo'clock Mr. Osborne came back to his dinnerwhichhe and hisdaughter took in silence (seldom brokenexceptwhen heswore and was savageif the cooking was not tohisliking)or which they shared twice in a month with aparty ofdismal friends of Osborne's rank and age.  Old Dr.Gulp andhis lady from Bloomsbury Square; old Mr.Frowserthe attorneyfrom Bedford Rowa very greatmanandfrom his businesshand-in-glove with the "nobsat theWest End"; old Colonel Livermoreof the BombayArmyandMrs. Livermorefrom Upper Bedford Place; oldSergeantToffy and Mrs. Toffy; and sometimes old SirThomasCoffin and Lady Coffinfrom Bedford Square.  SirThomas wascelebrated as a hanging judgeand theparticulartawny port was produced when he dined withMr.Osborne.

Thesepeople and their like gave the pompous RussellSquaremerchant pompous dinners back again.  They hadsolemnrubbers of whistwhen they went upstairs afterdrinkingand their carriages were called at half past ten.Many richpeoplewhom we poor devils are in the habit ofenvyinglead contentedly an existence like that abovedescribed. Jane Osborne scarcely ever met a man undersixtyandalmost the only bachelor who appeared in theirsocietywas Mr. Smirkthe celebrated ladies' doctor.

I can'tsay that nothing had occurred to disturb themonotonyof this awful existence:  the fact isthere hadbeen asecret in poor Jane's life which had made her fathermoresavage and morose than even natureprideandover-feedinghad made him.  This secret was connectedwith MissWirtwho had a cousin an artistMr. Smeeverycelebratedsince as a portrait-painter and R.A.but whoonce wasglad enough to give drawing lessons to ladies offashion. Mr. Smee has forgotten where Russell Square isnowbuthe was glad enough to visit it in the year 1818when MissOsborne had instruction from him.

Smee(formerly a pupil of Sharpe of Frith Streetadissoluteirregularand unsuccessful manbut a man withgreatknowledge of his art) being the cousin of Miss Wirtwe sayand introduced by her to Miss Osbornewhosehand andheart were still free after various incompleteloveaffairsfelt a great attachment for this ladyand it isbelievedinspired one in her bosom.  Miss Wirt was theconfidanteof this intrigue.  I know not whether she used toleave theroom where the master and his pupil werepaintingin order to give them an opportunity forexchangingthose vows and sentiments which cannot beutteredadvantageously in the presence of a third party; Iknow notwhether she hoped that should her cousinsucceed incarrying off the rich merchant's daughterhewould giveMiss Wirt a portion of the wealth which shehadenabled him to win--all that is certain is that Mr.Osbornegot some hint of the transactioncame back fromthe Cityabruptlyand entered the drawing-room with hisbamboocane; found the painterthe pupiland thecompanionall looking exceedingly pale there; turned theformer outof doors with menaces that he would breakevery bonein his skinand half an hour afterwardsdismissedMiss Wirt likewisekicking her trunks down thestairstrampling on her bandboxesand shaking his fist atherhackney coach as it bore her away.

JaneOsborne kept her bedroom for many days.  She wasnotallowed to have a companion afterwards.  Her fatherswore toher that she should not have a shilling of hismoney ifshe made any match without his concurrence;and as hewanted a woman to keep his househe did notchoosethat she should marryso that she was obliged togive upall projects with which Cupid had any share.During herpapa's lifethenshe resigned herself to themanner ofexistence here describedand was content to bean oldmaid.  Her sistermeanwhilewas having childrenwith finernames every year and the intercourse betweenthe twogrew fainter continually.  "Jane and I do not movein thesame sphere of life" Mrs. Bullock said.  "I regardheras asisterof course"--which means--what does it meanwhen alady says that she regards Jane as a sister?

It hasbeen described how the Misses Dobbin lived withtheirfather at a fine villa at Denmark Hillwhere therewerebeautiful graperies and peach-trees which delightedlittleGeorgy Osborne.  The Misses Dobbinwho drove oftentoBrompton to see our dear Ameliacame sometimes toRussellSquare tooto pay a visit to their old acquaintanceMissOsborne.  I believe it was in consequence of thecommandsof their brother the Major in India (for whomtheir papahad a prodigious respect)that they paidattentionto Mrs. George; for the Majorthe godfather andguardianof Amelia's little boystill hoped that the child'sgrandfathermight be induced to relent towards him andacknowledgehim for the sake of his son.  The MissesDobbinkept Miss Osborne acquainted with the state ofAmelia'saffairs; how she was living with her father andmother;how poor they were; how they wondered whatmenandsuch men as their brother and dear CaptainOsbornecould find in such an insignificant little chit; howshe wasstillas heretoforea namby-pamby milk-and-wateraffected creature--but how the boy was really thenoblestlittle boy ever seen--for the hearts of all womenwarmtowards young childrenand the sourest spinster iskind tothem.

One dayafter great entreaties on the part of the MissesDobbinAmelia allowed little George to go and pass a daywith themat Denmark Hill--a part of which day she spentherself inwriting to the Major in India.  She congratulatedhim on thehappy news which his sisters had justconveyedto her.  She prayed for his prosperity and that ofthe bridehe had chosen.  She thanked him for a thousandthousandkind offices and proofs of stead fast friendship toher in heraffliction.  She told him the last news about littleGeorgyand how he was gone to spend that very day withhissisters in the country.  She underlined the letter a greatdealandshe signed herself affectionately his friendAmeliaOsborne.  She forgot to send any message ofkindnessto Lady O'Dowdas her wont was--and did notmentionGlorvina by nameand only in italicsas theMajor'sBRIDEfor whom she begged blessings.  But thenews ofthe marriage removed the reserve which she hadkept uptowards him.  She was glad to be able to own andfeel howwarmly and gratefully she regarded him--and asfor theidea of being jealous of Glorvina (Glorvinaindeed!)Ameliawould have scouted itif an angel from heaven hadhinted itto her.  That nightwhen Georgy came back in thepony-carriagein which he rejoicedand in which he wasdriven bySir Wm.  Dobbin's old coachmanhe had roundhis neck afine gold chain and watch.  He said an old ladynotprettyhad given it himwho cried and kissed him agreatdeal.  But he didn't like her.  He liked grapes verymuch. And he only liked his mamma.  Amelia shrank andstarted;the timid soul felt a presentiment of terror whenshe heardthat the relations of the child's father had seenhim.

MissOsborne came back to give her father his dinner.  Hehad made agood speculation in the Cityand was rather ina goodhumour that dayand chanced to remark theagitationunder which she laboured.  "What's the matterMissOsborne?" he deigned to say.

The womanburst into tears.  "Ohsir" she said"I'veseenlittleGeorge.  He is as beautiful as an angel--and so likehim!"The old man opposite to her did not say a wordbutflushed upand began to tremble in every limb.

CHAPIERXLIIIInWhich the Reader Has to Double the Cape

Theastonished reader must be called upon to transporthimselften thousand miles to the military station ofBundlegungein the Madras division of our Indian empirewhere ourgallant old friends of the --th regiment arequarteredunder the command of the brave ColonelSirMichael O'Dowd.  Time has dealt kindly with thatstoutofficeras it does ordinarily with men who havegoodstomachs and good tempers and are not perplexedover muchby fatigue of the brain.  The Colonel plays agood knifeand fork at tiffin and resumes those weaponswith greatsuccess at dinner.  He smokes his hookah afterboth mealsand puffs as quietly while his wife scoldshim as hedid under the fire of the French at Waterloo.  Ageand heathave not diminished the activity or the eloquenceof thedescendant of the Malonys and the Molloys.  HerLadyshipour old acquaintanceis as much at home atMadras asat Brussels in the cantonment as under thetents. On the march you saw her at the head of theregimentseated on a royal elephanta noble sight.Mounted onthat beastshe has been into action with tigersin thejungleshe has been received by native princeswhohavewelcomed her and Glorvina into the recesses of theirzenanasand offered her shawls and jewels which it wentto herheart to refuse.  The sentries of all arms salute herwherevershe makes her appearanceand she touches herhatgravely to their salutation.  Lady O'Dowd is one of thegreatestladies in the Presidency of Madras--her quarrelwith LadySmithwife of Sir Minos Smith the puisne judgeis stillremembered by some at Madraswhen the Colonel'sladysnapped her fingers in the Judge's lady's face and saidSHE'Dnever walk behind ever a beggarly civilian.  Evennowthough it is five-and-twenty years agopeoplerememberLady O'Dowd performing a jig at GovernmentHousewhere she danced down two Aides-de-CampaMajor ofMadras cavalryand two gentlemen of the CivilService;andpersuaded by Major DobbinC.B.second incommand ofthe --thto retire to the supper-roomlassatanondumsatiata recessit.

PeggyO'Dowd is indeed the same as everkind in act andthought;impetuous in temper; eager to command; a tyrantover herMichael; a dragon amongst all the ladies of theregiment;a mother to all the young menwhom she tendsin theirsicknessdefends in all their scrapesand withwhom LadyPeggy is immensely popular.  But theSubalterns'and Captains' ladies (the Major is unmarried)cabalagainst her a good deal.  They say that Glorvina givesherselfairs and that Peggy herself is ill tolerablydomineering. She interfered with a little congregationwhich Mrs.Kirk had got up and laughed the young menaway fromher sermonsstating that a soldier's wife had nobusinessto be a parson--that Mrs. Kirk would be muchbettermending her husband's clothes; andif the regimentwantedsermonsthat she had the finest in the worldthoseof herunclethe Dean.  She abruptly put a termination to aflirtationwhich Lieutenant Stubble of the regiment hadcommencedwith the Surgeon's wifethreatening to comedown uponStubble for the money which he had borrowedfrom her(for the young fellow was still of an extravagantturn)unless he broke off at once and went to the Cape onsickleave.  On the other handshe housed and shelteredMrs.Poskywho fled from her bungalow one nightpursued byher infuriate husbandwielding his secondbrandybottleand actually carried Posky through thedeliriumtremens and broke him of the habit of drinkingwhich hadgrown upon that officeras all evil habits willgrow uponmen.  In a wordin adversity she was the bestofcomfortersin good fortune the most troublesome offriendshaving a perfectly good opinion of herself alwaysand anindomitable resolution to have her own way.

Amongother pointsshe had made up her mind thatGlorvinashould marry our old friend Dobbin.  Mrs. O'Dowdknew theMajor's expectations and appreciated his goodqualitiesand the high character which he enjoyed in hisprofession. Glorvinaa very handsomefresh-colouredblack-hairedblue-eyed young ladywho could ride ahorseorplay a sonata with any girl out of the CountyCorkseemed to be the very person destined to insureDobbin'shappiness--much more than that poor good littleweak-spur'tedAmeliaabout whom he used to take on so.--"Lookat Glorvina enter a room" Mrs. O'Dowd would say"andcompare her with that poor Mrs. Osbornewhocouldn'tsay boo to a goose.  She'd be worthy of youMajor--you're aquiet man yourselfand want some one to talk forye. And though she does not come of such good blood astheMalonys or Molloyslet me tell yeshe's of an ancientfamilythat any nobleman might be proud to marry into."

But beforeshe had come to such a resolution and determined tosubjugateMajor Dobbin by her endearmentsit must be ownedthatGlorvina had practised them a good deal elsewhere.  She hadhad aseason in Dublinand who knows how many in CorkKillarneyand Mallow? She had flirted with all the marriageableofficerswhom the depots of her country affordedand all thebachelorsquires who seemed eligible.  She had beenengaged tobe married a half-score times in Irelandbesidesthe clergyman at Bath who used her so ill.  She hadflirtedall the way to Madras with the Captain and chiefmate ofthe Ramchunder East Indiamanand had a seasonat thePresidency with her brother and Mrs. O'Dowdwhowasstaying therewhile the Major of the regiment was incommand atthe station.  Everybody admired her there;everybodydanced with her; but no one proposed who wasworth themarrying--one or two exceedingly youngsubalternssighed after herand a beardless civilian or twobut sherejected these as beneath her pretensions--andother andyounger virgins than Glorvina were marriedbeforeher.  There are womenand handsome women toowho havethis fortune in life.  They fall in love with theutmostgenerosity; they ride and walk with half theArmy-listthough they draw near to fortyand yet theMissesO'Grady are the Misses O'Grady still:  Glorvinapersistedthat but for Lady O'Dowd's unlucky quarrel withtheJudge's ladyshe would have made a good match atMadraswhere old Mr. Chutneywho was at the head ofthe civilservice (and who afterwards married Miss Dolbya younglady only thirteen years of age who had justarrivedfrom school in Europe)was just at the point ofproposingto her.

Wellalthough Lady O'Dowd and Glorvina quarrelled agreatnumber of times every dayand upon almost everyconceivablesubject--indeedif Mick O'Dowd had notpossessedthe temper of an angel two such womenconstantlyabout his ears would have driven him out of hissenses--yetthey agreed between themselves on this pointthatGlorvina should marry Major Dobbinand weredeterminedthat the Major should have no rest until thearrangementwas brought about.  Undismayed by forty orfiftyprevious defeatsGlorvina laid siege to him.  She sangIrishmelodies at him unceasingly.  She asked him sofrequentlyand patheticallyWill ye come to the bower?that it isa wonder how any man of feeling could haveresistedthe invitation.  She was never tired of inquiringifSorrow hadhis young days fadedand was ready to listenand weeplike Desdemona at the stories of his dangers andhiscampaigns.  It has beensaid thatour honest and dear old friend used to performon theflute in private; Glorvina insisted upon having duetswith himand Lady O'Dowd would rise and artlessly quitthe roomwhen the young couple were so engaged.Glorvinaforced the Major to ride with her of mornings.  Thewholecantonment saw them set out and return.  She wasconstantlywriting notes over to him at his houseborrowinghis booksand scoring with her greatpencil-markssuch passages of sentiment or humour asawakenedher sympathy.  She borrowed his horseshisservantshis spoonsand palanquin--no wonder that publicrumourassigned her to himand that the Major's sisters inEnglandshould fancy they were about to have a sister-in-law.

Dobbinwho was thus vigorously besiegedwas in themeanwhilein a state of the most odious tranquillity.  Heused tolaugh when the young fellows of the regimentjoked himabout Glorvina's manifest attentions to him."Bah!"said he"she is only keeping her hand in--shepractisesupon me as she does upon Mrs. Tozer's pianobecauseit's the most handy instrument in the station.  I ammuch toobattered and old for such a fine young lady asGlorvina."And so he went on riding with herand copyingmusic andverses into her albumsand playing at chesswith hervery submissively; for it is with these simpleamusementsthat some officers in India are accustomed towhile awaytheir leisure momentswhile others of a lessdomesticturn hunt hogsand shoot snipesor gamble andsmokecherootsand betake themselves to brandy-and-water. As for Sir Michael O'Dowdthough his lady and hersisterboth urged him to call upon the Major to explainhimselfand not keep on torturing a poor innocent girl inthatshameful waythe old soldier refused point-blank tohaveanything to do with the conspiracy.  "Faiththe Major'sbig enoughto choose for himself" Sir Michael said; "he'llask yewhen he wants ye"; or else he would turn thematter offjocularlydeclaring that "Dobbin was too youngto keephouseand had written home to ask lave of hismamma."Nayhe went fartherand in privatecommunicationswith his Major would caution and rallyhimcrying"Mind your oiDobmy boythem girls is bentonmischief--me Lady has just got a box of gowns from Europeandthere's a pink satin for Glorvinawhich will finish yeDobif it's inthe power of woman or satin to move ye."

But thetruth isneither beauty nor fashion could conquerhim. Our honest friend had but one idea of a woman in hisheadandthat one did not in the least resemble MissGlorvinaO'Dowd in pink satin.  A gentle little woman in blackwith largeeyes and brown hairseldom speakingsave whenspoken toand then in a voice not the least resemblingMissGlorvina's--a soft young mother tending an infantandbeckoning the Major up with a smile to look at him--arosy-cheekedlass coming singing into the room in RussellSquare orhanging on George Osborne's armhappy andloving--therewas but this image that filled our honestMajor'smindby day and by nightand reigned over italways. Very likely Amelia was not like the portrait theMajor hadformed of her:  there was a figure in a book offashionswhich his sisters had in Englandand with whichWilliamhad made away privatelypasting it into the lidof hisdeskand fancying he saw some resemblance toMrs.Osborne in the printwhereas I have seen itandcan vouchthat it is but the picture of a high-waistedgown withan impossible doll's face simpering over it--andperhapsMr. Dobbin's sentimental Amelia was nomore likethe real one than this absurd little print whichhecherished.  But what man in loveof usis betterinformed?--oris he much happier when he sees and owns hisdelusion?Dobbin was under this spell.  He did not botherhisfriends and the public much about his feelingsorindeedlose his natural rest or appetite on accountof them. His head has grizzled since we saw him lastanda line ortwo of silver may be seen in the soft brown hairlikewise. But his feelings are not in the least changed oroldenedand his love remains as fresh as a man'srecollectionsof boyhood are.

We havesaid how the two Misses Dobbin and AmeliatheMajor'scorrespondents in Europewrote him letters fromEnglandMrs. Osborne congratulating him with great candourandcordiality upon his approaching nuptials with Miss O'Dowd."Yoursister has just kindly visited me" Amelia wrotein herletter"and informed me of an INTERESTING EVENTupon whichI beg to offer my MOST SINCERE CONGRATULATIONS.I hope theyoung lady to whom I hear you are tobe UNITEDwill in every respect prove worthy of one whois himselfall kindness and goodness.  The poor widow hasonly herprayers to offer and her cordial cordial wishesfor YOURPROSPERITY!  Georgy sends his love to HIS DEAR GODPAPAand hopesthat you will not forget him.  I tellhim thatyou are about to form OTHER TIESwith one whoI am suremerits ALL YOUR AFFECTIONbut thatalthoughsuch tiesmust of course be the strongest and mostsacredand supersede ALL OTHERSyet that I am sure thewidow andthe child whom you have ever protected andloved willalways HAVE A CORNER IN YOUR HEART" The letterwhich hasbeen before alluded towent on in thisstrainprotesting throughout as to the extreme satisfactionof thewriter.

Thisletter.which arrived by the very same ship whichbroughtout Lady O'Dowd's box of millinery from London(and whichyou may be sure Dobbin opened before anyone of theother packets which the mail brought him)put thereceiver into such a state of mind that Glorvinaand herpink satinand everything belonging to her becameperfectlyodious to him.  The Major cursed the talkof womenand the sex in general.  Everything annoyedhim thatday--the parade was insufferably hot andwearisome. Good heavens! was a man of intellect to wastehis lifeday after dayinspecting cross-belts and puttingfoolsthrough their manoeuvres? The senseless chatterof theyoung men at mess was more than ever jarring.What caredhea man on the high road to fortytoknow howmany snipes Lieutenant Smith had shotorwhat werethe performances of Ensign Brown's mare? Thejokesabout the table filled him with shame.  He was tooold tolisten to the banter of the assistant surgeon andthe slangof the youngstersat which old O'Dowdwithhis baldhead and red facelaughed quite easily.  Theold manhad listened to those jokes any time thesethirtyyears--Dobbin himself had been fifteen years hearingthem. And after the boisterous dulness of the mess-tablethequarrels and scandal of the ladies of the regiment!It wasunbearableshameful.  "O AmeliaAmelia"hethought"you to whom I have been so faithful--youreproach me!  It is because you cannot feel for methat Idrag on this wearisome life.  And you reward meafteryears of devotion by giving me your blessing uponmymarriageforsoothwith this flaunting Irish girl!"Sick andsorry felt poor William; more than everwretchedand lonely.  He would like to have done withlife andits vanity altogether--so bootless and unsatisfactorythestruggleso cheerless and dreary the prospectseemed tohim.  He lay all that night sleeplessandyearningto go home.  Amelia's letter had fallen as ablank uponhim.  No fidelityno constant truth and passioncould moveher into warmth.  She would not seethat heloved her.  Tossing in his bedhe spoke out to her."GoodGodAmelia!" he said"don't you know that Ionly loveyou in the world--youwho are a stone to me--youwhom I tended through months and months ofillnessand griefand who bade me farewell with a smileon yourfaceand forgot me before the door shut betweenus!"The native servants lying outside his verandas beheldwithwonder the Majorso cold and quiet ordinarilyat presentso passionately moved and cast down.  Wouldshe havepitied him had she seen him? He read over andover allthe letters which he ever had from her--lettersofbusiness relative to the little property which he hadmade herbelieve her husband had left to her--brief notesofinvitation--every scrap of writing that she had eversent tohim--how coldhow kindhow hopelesshowselfishthey were!

Had therebeen some kind gentle soul near at hand whocould readand appreciate this silent generous heartwhoknows butthat the reign of Amelia might have been overand thatfriend William's love might have flowed into akinderchannel? But there was only Glorvina of the jettyringletswith whom his intercourse was familiarand thisdashingyoung woman was not bent upon loving theMajorbutrather on making the Major admire HER--amost vainand hopeless tasktooat least consideringthe meansthat the poor girl possessed to carryit out. She curled her hair and showed her shouldersat himasmuch as to saydid ye ever see such jetringletsand such a complexion? She grinned at him sothat hemight see that every tooth in her head wassound--andhe never heeded all these charms.  Very soonafter thearrival of the box of millineryand perhaps indeedin honourof itLady O'Dowd and the ladies ofthe King'sRegiment gave a ball to the Company'sRegimentsand the civilians at the station.  Glorvinasportedthe killing pink frockand the Majorwho attendedthe partyand walked very ruefully up and downthe roomsnever so much as perceived the pink garment.Glorvinadanced past him in a fury with all the youngsubalternsof the stationand the Major was not in theleastjealous of her performanceor angry because CaptainBangles ofthe Cavalry handed her to supper.  It wasnotjealousyor frocksor shoulders that could move himandGlorvina had nothing more.

So thesetwo were each exemplifying the Vanity of thislifeandeach longing for what he or she could not get.Glorvinacried with rage at the failure.  She had set hermind onthe Major "more than on any of the others"she ownedsobbing.  "He'll break my hearthe willPeggy"she would whimper to her sister-in-law whenthey weregood friends; "sure every one of me frocksmust betaken in--it's such a skeleton I'm growing."Fat orthinlaughing or melancholyon horseback or themusic-stoolit was all the same to the Major.  And theColonelpuffing his pipe and listening to these complaintswouldsuggest that Glory should have some black frocksout in thenext box from Londonand told a mysteriousstory of alady in Ireland who died of grief for the loss ofherhusband before she got ere a one.

While theMajor was going on in this tantalizing waynotproposingand declining to fall in lovethere cameanothership from Europe bringing letters on boardandamongstthem some more for the heartless man.  Thesewere homeletters bearing an earlier postmark than thatof theformer packetsand as Major Dobbin recognizedamong histhe handwriting of his sisterwho alwayscrossedand recrossed her letters to her brother--gatheredtogetherall the possible bad news which she couldcollectabused him and read him lectures with sisterlyfranknessand always left him miserable for the day after"dearestWilliam" had achieved the perusal of one of herepistles--thetruth must be told that dearest William didnot hurryhimself to break the seal of Miss Dobbin'sletterbut waited for a particularly favourable day andmood fordoing so.  A fortnight beforemoreoverhehadwritten to scold her for telling those absurd storiesto Mrs.Osborneand had despatched a letter in replyto thatladyundeceiving her with respect to the reportsconcerninghim and assuring her that "he had no sort ofpresentintention of altering his condition."

Two orthree nights after the arrival of the secondpackage oflettersthe Major had passed the eveningprettycheerfully at Lady O'Dowd's housewhere Glorvinathoughtthat he listened with rather more attentionthan usualto the Meeting of the Wathersthe MinsthrelBoyandone or two other specimens of song with whichshefavoured him (the truth ishe was no more listeningtoGlorvina than to the howling of the jackals in themoonlightoutsideand the delusion was hers as usual)and havingplayed his game at chess with her (cribbagewith thesurgeon was Lady O'Dowd's favourite eveningpastime)Major Dobbin took leave of the Colonel's familyat hisusual hour and retired to his own house.

There onhis tablehis sister's letter lay reproachinghim. He took it upashamed rather of his negligenceregardingitand prepared himself for a disagreeable hour'scommuningwith that crabbed-handed absent relative..  . .  It may have been an hour after the Major's departurefrom theColonel's house--Sir Michael was sleepingthe sleepof the just; Glorvina had arranged herblackringlets in the innumerable little bits of paperinwhich itwas her habit to confine them; Lady O'Dowdtoohadgone to her bed in the nuptial chamberon theground-floorand had tucked her musquito curtainsround herfair formwhen the guard at the gates of theCommanding-Officer'scompound beheld Major Dobbinin themoonlightrushing towards the house with a swiftstep and avery agitated countenanceand he passed thesentineland went up to the windows of the Colonel'sbedchamber.

"O'Dowd--Colonel!"said Dobbin and kept up a greatshouting.

"HeavensMeejor!" said Glorvina of the curl-papersputtingout her head toofrom her window.

"Whatis itDobme boy?" said the Colonelexpectingthere wasa fire in the stationor that the route hadcome fromheadquarters.

"I--Imust have leave of absence.  I must go to England--on themost urgent private affairs" Dobbin said.

"Goodheavenswhat has happened!" thought Glorvinatremblingwith all the papillotes.

"Iwant to be off--now--to-night" Dobbin continued;and theColonel getting upcame out to parley with him.

In thepostscript of Miss Dobbin's cross-lettertheMajor hadjust come upon a paragraphto the followingeffect:--"Idrove yesterday to see your old ACQUAINTANCEMrs.Osborne.  The wretched place they live atsincethey werebankruptsyou know--Mr. S.to judge froma BRASSPLATE on the door of his hut (it is little better)is acoal-merchant.  The little boyyour godsoniscertainlya fine childthough forwardand inclined to besaucy andself-willed.  But we have taken notice of himas youwish itand have introduced him to his auntMiss O.who was rather pleased with him.  Perhaps hisgrandpapanot the bankrupt onewho is almost dotingbut Mr.Osborneof Russell Squaremay be induced torelenttowards the child of your friendHIS ERRING ANDSELF-WILLEDSON.  And Amelia will not be ill-disposed togive himup.  The widow is CONSOLEDand is about tomarry areverend gentlemanthe Rev.  Mr. Binnyoneof thecurates of Brompton.  A poor match.  But Mrs. O.is gettingoldand I saw a great deal of grey in her hair--she was invery good spirits:  and your little godson overatehimself atour house.  Mamma sends her love withthat ofyour affectionateAnn Dobbin."

CHAPTERXLIVARound-about Chapter between London andHampshire

Our oldfriends the Crawleys' family housein GreatGauntStreetstill bore over its front the hatchment whichhad beenplaced there as a token of mourning for SirPittCrawley's demiseyet this heraldic emblem was initself avery splendid and gaudy piece of furnitureandall therest of the mansion became more brilliant than ithad everbeen during the late baronet's reign.  The blackouter-coatingof the bricks was removedand theyappearedwith a cheerfulblushing face streaked with white:the oldbronze lions of the knocker were gilt handsomelytherailings paintedand the dismallest house in GreatGauntStreet became the smartest in the whole quarterbefore thegreen leaves in Hampshire had replaced thoseyellowingones which were on the trees in Queen's CrawleyAvenuewhen old Sir Pitt Crawley passed under themfor thelast time.

A littlewomanwith a carriage to correspondwasperpetuallyseen about this mansion; an elderly spinsteraccompaniedby a little boyalso might be remarkedcomingthither daily.  It was Miss Briggs and little Rawdonwhosebusiness it was to see to the inward renovationof SirPitt's houseto superintend the female bandengaged institching the blinds and hangingsto pokeandrummage in the drawers and cupboards crammedwith thedirty relics and congregated trumperies of acouple ofgenerations of Lady Crawleysand to takeinventoriesof the chinathe glassand other propertiesin theclosets and store-rooms.

Mrs.Rawdon Crawley was general-in-chief over thesearrangementswith full orders from Sir Pitt to sellbarterconfiscateor purchase furnitureand she enjoyed herselfnot alittle in an occupation which gave full scope to hertaste andingenuity.  The renovation of the house wasdeterminedupon when Sir Pitt came to town in Novemberto see hislawyersand when he passed nearly a week inCurzonStreetunder the roof of his affectionate brotherandsister.

He had putup at an hotel at firstbutBeckyas soonas sheheard of the Baronet's arrivalwent off alone togreet himand returned in an hour to Curzon Streetwith SirPitt in the carriage by her side.  It was impossiblesometimesto resist this artless little creature's hospitalitiesso kindlywere they pressedso frankly and amiablyoffered. Becky seized Pitt's hand in a transport ofgratitudewhen he agreed to come.  "Thank you" shesaidsqueezing it and looking into the Baronet's eyeswhoblushed a good deal; "how happy this will makeRawdon!"She bustled up to Pitt's bedroomleadingon theservantswho were carrying his trunks thither.  Shecame inherself laughingwith a coal-scuttle out ofher ownroom.

A fire wasblazing already in Sir Pitt's apartment (itwas MissBriggs's roomby the waywho was sentupstairsto sleep with the maid).  "I knew I should bringyou"she said with pleasure beaming in her glance.  Indeedshe wasreally sincerely happy at having him for a guest.

Becky madeRawdon dine out once or twice on businesswhile Pittstayed with themand the Baronet passedthe happyevening alone with her and Briggs.  She wentdownstairsto the kitchen and actually cooked littledishes forhim.  "Isn't it a good salmi?" she said; "Imade itfor you.  I can make you better dishes than thatand willwhen you come to see me."

"Everythingyou doyou do well" said the Baronetgallantly. "The salmi is excellent indeed."

"Apoor man's wife" Rebecca replied gaily"mustmakeherself usefulyou know"; on which her brother-in-lawvowed that "she was fit to be the wife of anEmperorand that to be skilful in domestic duties wassurely oneof the most charming of woman's qualities."And SirPitt thoughtwith something like mortificationof LadyJane at homeand of a certain pie which she hadinsistedon makingand serving to him at dinner--amostabominable pie.

Besidesthe salmiwhich was made of Lord Steyne'spheasantsfrom his lordship's cottage of StillbrookBeckygave herbrother-in-law a bottle of white winesomethatRawdon had brought with him from Franceand hadpicked upfor nothingthe little story-teller said; whereasthe liquorwasin truthsome White Hermitage fromtheMarquis of Steyne's famous cellarswhich brought fireinto theBaronet's pallid cheeks and a glow into his feebleframe.

Then whenhe had drunk up the bottle of petit vinblancshegave him her handand took him up to thedrawing-roomand made him snug on the sofa by thefireandlet him talk as she listened with the tenderestkindlyinterestsitting by himand hemming a shirtfor herdear little boy.  Whenever Mrs. Rawdon wishedto beparticularly humble and virtuousthis little shirtused tocome out of her work-box.  It had got to be toosmall forRawdon long before it was finished.

WellRebecca listened to Pittshe talked to himshesang tohimshe coaxed himand cuddled himso thathe foundhimself more and more glad every day to getback fromthe lawyer's at Gray's Innto the blazing firein CurzonStreet--a gladness in which the men of lawlikewiseparticipatedfor Pitt's harangues were of thelongest--andso that when he went away he felt quite apang atdeparting.  How pretty she looked kissing herhand tohim from the carriage and waving her handkerchiefwhen hehad taken his place in the mail!  She putthehandkerchief to her eyes once.  He pulled hissealskincap over hisas the coach drove awayandsinkingbackhe thought to himself how she respectedhim andhow he deserved itand how Rawdon was a foolishdullfellow who didn't half-appreciate his wife; andhow mumand stupid his own wife was compared to thatbrilliantlittle Becky.  Becky had hinted every one of thesethingsherselfperhapsbut so delicately and gently thatyou hardlyknew when or where.  Andbefore theyparteditwas agreed that the house in London should beredecoratedfor the next seasonand that the brothers'familiesshould meet again in the country at Christmas.

"Iwish you could have got a little money out ofhim"Rawdon said to his wife moodily when the Baronetwas gone. "I should like to give something to old Raggleshanged ifI shouldn't.  It ain't rightyou knowthat theold fellowshould be kept out of all his money.  It may beinconvenientand he might let to somebody else besidesusyouknow."

"Tellhim" said Becky"that as soon as Sir Pitt'saffairsare settledeverybody will be paidand give him alittlesomething on account.  Here's a cheque that Pittleft forthe boy" and she took from her bag and gaveherhusband a paper which his brother had handed overto heronbehalf of the little son and heir of the youngerbranch ofthe Crawleys.

The truthisshe had tried personally the ground onwhich herhusband expressed a wish that she shouldventure--triedit ever so delicatelyand found it unsafe.Even at ahint about embarrassmentsSir Pitt Crawley wasoff andalarmed.  And he began a long speechexplaininghowstraitened he himself was in money matters; howthetenants would not pay; how his father's affairsandtheexpenses attendant upon the demise of the oldgentlemanhad involved him; how he wanted to pay offincumbrances;and how the bankers and agents wereoverdrawn;and Pitt Crawley ended by making acompromisewith his sister-in-law and giving her a verysmall sumfor the benefit of her little boy.

Pitt knewhow poor his brother and his brother's familymust be. It could not have escaped the notice of such acool andexperienced old diplomatist that Rawdon's familyhadnothing to live uponand that houses and carriagesare not tobe kept for nothing.  He knew very well thathe was theproprietor or appropriator of the moneywhichaccording to all proper calculationought to havefallen tohis younger brotherand he hadwe may be suresomesecretpangs of remorse within himwhich warnedhim thathe ought to perform some act of justiceorlet ussaycompensationtowards these disappointedrelations. A justdecent mannot without brainswho saidhis prayersand knew his catechismanddid hisduty outwardly through lifehe could not beotherwisethan aware that something was due to hisbrother athis handsand that morally he was Rawdon'sdebtor.

Butasone reads in the columns of the Times newspaperevery nowand thenqueer announcements fromtheChancellor of the Exchequeracknowledging the receiptof 50pounds from A.  B.or 10 pounds from W.  T.asconscience-moneyon account of taxes due by the saidA. B.  or W.  T.which payments the penitents beg theRightHonourable gentleman to acknowledge through themedium ofthe public press--so is the Chancellor nodoubtandthe reader likewisealways perfectly sure thattheabove-named A.  B.  and W.  T.  are only paying avery smallinstalment of what they really oweand thatthe manwho sends up a twenty-pound note has verylikelyhundreds or thousands more for which he oughttoaccount.  Suchat leastare my feelingswhen I seeA. B.  or W.  T.'s insufficient acts of repentance.  AndIhave nodoubt that Pitt Crawley's contritionor kindnessif youwilltowards his younger brotherby whomhe had somuch profitedwas only a very small dividendupon thecapital sum in which he was indebted to Rawdon.Noteverybody is willing to pay even so much.  To partwith moneyis a sacrifice beyond almost all men endowedwith asense of order.  There is scarcely any man alivewho doesnot think himself meritorious for givinghisneighbour five pounds.  Thriftless givesnot from abeneficentpleasure in givingbut from a lazy delight inspending. He would not deny himself one enjoyment; nothisopera-stallnot his horsenot his dinnernot eventhepleasure of giving Lazarus the five pounds.  Thriftywho isgoodwisejustand owes no man a pennyturnsfrom abeggarhaggles with a hackney-coachmanordenies apoor relationand I doubt which is the mostselfish ofthe two.  Money has only a different value inthe eyesof each.

Soin awordPitt Crawley thought he would do somethingfor hisbrotherand then thought that he would thinkabout itsome other time.

And withregard to Beckyshe was not a woman whoexpectedtoo much from the generosity of herneighboursand so was quite content with all that Pitt Crawleyhad donefor her.  She was acknowledged by the headof thefamily.  If Pitt would not give her anythinghewould getsomething for her some day.  If she got nomoney fromher brother-in-lawshe got what was as goodasmoney--credit.  Raggles was made rather easy in hismind bythe spectacle of the union between the brothersby a smallpayment on the spotand by the promise of amuchlarger sum speedily to be assigned to him.  AndRebeccatold Miss Briggswhose Christmas dividendupon thelittle sum lent by her Becky paid with an air ofcandidjoyand as if her exchequer was brimming overwithgold--Rebeccawe saytold Miss Briggsin strictconfidencethat she had conferred with Sir Pittwho wasfamous asa financieron Briggs's special behalfas tothe mostprofitable investment of Miss B.'s remainingcapital;that Sir Pittafter much considerationhadthought ofa most safe and advantageous way in whichBriggscould lay out her money; thatbeing especiallyinterestedin her as an attached friend of the late MissCrawleyand of the whole familyand that long beforehe lefttownhe had recommended that she should beready withthe money at a moment's noticeso as topurchaseat the most favourable opportunity the shareswhich SirPitt had in his eye.  Poor Miss Briggs was verygratefulfor this mark of Sir Pitt's attention--it came sounsolicitedshe saidfor she never should have thought ofremovingthe money from the funds--and the delicacyenhancedthe kindness of the office; and she promised tosee herman of business immediately and be ready withher littlecash at the proper hour.

And thisworthy woman was so grateful for thekindnessof Rebecca in the matterand for that of hergenerousbenefactorthe Colonelthat she went out andspent agreat part of her half-year's dividend in thepurchaseof a black velvet coat for little Rawdonwhobythe waywas grown almost too big for black velvet nowand was ofa size and age befitting him for the assumptionof thevirile jacket and pantaloons.

He was afine open-faced boywith blue eyes andwavingflaxen hairsturdy in limbbut generous and soft inheartfondly attaching himself to all who were good tohim--tothe pony--to Lord Southdownwho gave himthe horse(he used to blush and glow all over when hesaw thatkind young nobleman)--to the groom who hadcharge ofthe pony--to Mollythe cookwho crammedhim withghost stories at nightand with good things fromthedinner--to Briggswhom he plagued and laughed at--and tohis father especiallywhose attachmenttowardsthe lad was curious too to witness.  Hereas hegrew to beabout eight years oldhis attachments maybe said tohave ended.  The beautiful mother-vision hadfaded awayafter a while.  During near two years she hadscarcelyspoken to the child.  She disliked him.  He hadthemeasles and the hooping-cough.  He bored her.  Oneday whenhe was standing at the landing-placehavingcrept downfrom the upper regionsattracted by the soundof hismother's voicewho was singing to Lord Steynethedrawing room door opening suddenlydiscovered thelittlespywho but a moment before had been rapt indelightand listening to the music.

His mothercame out and struck him violently a coupleof boxeson the ear.  He heard a laugh from the Marquisin theinner room (who was amused by this free andartlessexhibition of Becky's temper) and fled down belowto hisfriends of the kitchenbursting in an agony ofgrief.

"Itis not because it hurts me" little Rawdon gaspedout--"only--only"--sobsand tears wound up thesentencein a storm.  It was the little boy's heart that wasbleeding. "Why mayn't I hear her singing? Why don'tshe eversing to me--as she does to that baldheadedman withthe large teeth?" He gasped out at variousintervalsthese exclamations of rage and grief.  The cooklooked atthe housemaidthe housemaid lookedknowinglyat the footman--the awful kitchen inquisition whichsits injudgement in every house and knows everything--sat onRebecca at that moment.

After thisincidentthe mother's dislike increased tohatred;the consciousness that the child was in the housewas areproach and a pain to her.  His very sightannoyedher.  Feardoubtand resistance sprang uptooin theboy's own bosom.  They were separated from thatday of theboxes on the ear.

LordSteyne also heartily disliked the boy.  When theymet bymischancehe made sarcastic bows or remarksto thechildor glared at him with savage-looking eyes.Rawdonused to stare him in the face and double hislittlefists in return.  He knew his enemyand this gentlemanof all whocame to the housewas the one whoangeredhim most.  One day the footman found himsquaringhis fists at Lord Steyne's hat in the hall.  Thefootmantold the circumstance as a good joke to LordSteyne'scoachman; that officer imparted it to LordSteyne'sgentlemanand to the servants' hall in general.And verysoon afterwardswhen Mrs. Rawdon Crawleymade herappearance at Gaunt Housethe porter whounbarredthe gatesthe servants of all uniforms in the hallthefunctionaries in white waistcoatswho bawled outfromlanding to landing the names of Colonel and Mrs.RawdonCrawleyknew about heror fancied they did.The manwho brought her refreshment and stood behindher chairhad talked her character over with the largegentlemanin motley-coloured clothes at his side.  BonDieu! itis awfulthat servants' inquisition!  You see awoman in agreat party in a splendid saloonsurroundedbyfaithful admirersdistributing sparkling glancesdressed toperfectioncurledrougedsmiling and happy--Discoverywalks respectfully up to herin the shape ofa hugepowdered man with large calves and a tray of ices--withCalumny (which is as fatal as truth) behindhiminthe shape of the hulking fellow carrying the wafer-biscuits. Madamyour secret will be talked over by thosemen attheir club at the public-house to-night.  Jeameswill tellChawles his notions about you over their pipesand pewterbeer-pots.  Some people ought to have mutesforservants in Vanity Fair--mutes who could not write.If you areguiltytremble.  That fellow behind your chairmay be aJanissary with a bow-string in his plush breechespocket. If you are not guiltyhave a care ofappearanceswhich are as ruinous as guilt.

"WasRebecca guilty or not?" the Vehmgericht of thoservants'hall had pronounced against her.

AndIshame to sayshe would not have got credithad theynot believed her to be guilty.  It was the sight oftheMarquis of Steyne's carriage-lamps at her doorcontemplatedby Ragglesburning in the blackness ofmidnight"that kep him up" as he afterwards saidthateven morethan Rebecca's arts and coaxings.

Andso--guiltless very likely--she was writhing andpushingonward towards what they call "a position insociety"and the servants were pointing at her as lostandruined.  So you see Mollythe housemaidof a morningwatching aspider in the doorpost lay his thread andlaboriouslycrawl up ituntiltired of the sportsheraises herbroom and sweeps away the thread and theartificer.

A day ortwo before ChristmasBeckyher husbandand herson made ready and went to pass the holidaysat theseat of their ancestors at Queen's Crawley.  Beckywould haveliked to leave the little brat behindandwould havedone so but for Lady Jane's urgent invitationsto theyoungsterand the symptoms of revolt anddiscontentwhich Rawdon manifested at her neglect of herson. "He's the finest boy in England" the father said in atone ofreproach to her"and you don't seem to care forhimBeckyas much as you do for your spaniel.  Heshan'tbother you much; at home he will be away fromyou in thenurseryand he shall go outside on the coachwith me."

"Whereyou go yourself because you want to smokethosefilthy cigars" replied Mrs. Rawdon.

"Iremember when you liked 'em though" answered thehusband.

Beckylaughed; she was almost always good-humoured."Thatwas when I was on my promotionGoosey" shesaid. "Take Rawdon outside with you and give him a cigartoo if youlike."

Rawdon didnot warm his little son for the winter'sjourney inthis waybut he and Briggs wrapped up thechild inshawls and comfortersand he was hoistedrespectfullyonto the roof of the coach in the.dark morningunder thelamps of the White Horse Cellar; and withno smalldelight he watched the dawn rise and madehis firstjourney to the place which his father still calledhome. It was a journey of infinite pleasure to the boytowhom theincidents of the road afforded endless interesthis fatheranswering to him all questions connected with itandtelling him who lived in the great white house to therightandwhom the park belonged to.  His motherinsidethevehiclewith her maid and her fursher wrappersandher scentbottlesmade such a to-do that you would havethoughtshe never had been in a stage-coach before--much lessthat she had been turned out of this very oneto makeroom for a paying passenger on a certainjourneyperformed some half-score years ago.

It wasdark again when little Rawdon was wakened upto enterhis uncle's carriage at Mudburyand he sat andlooked outof it wondering as the great iron gates flewopenandat the white trunks of the limes as they sweptbyuntilthey stoppedat lengthbefore the light windowsof theHallwhich were blazing and comfortable withChristmaswelcome.  The hall-door was flung open--a bigfire wasburning in the great old fire-place--a carpet wasdown overthe chequered black flags--"It's the old Turkeyone thatused to be in the Ladies' Gallery" thoughtRebeccaand the next instant was kissing Lady Jane.

She andSir Pitt performed the same salute with greatgravity;but Rawdonhaving been smokinghung backratherfrom his sister-in-lawwhose two children cameup totheir cousin; andwhile Matilda held out her handand kissedhimPitt Binkie Southdownthe son and heirstoodaloof rather and examined him as a little dog doesa big dog.

Then thekind hostess conducted her guests to the snugapartmentsblazing with cheerful fires.  Then the youngladiescame and knocked at Mrs. Rawdon's doorunderthepretence that they were desirous to be usefulbut inreality tohave the pleasure of inspecting the contents ofher bandand bonnet-boxesand her dresses whichthoughblackwere of the newest London fashion.  And they toldher howmuch the Hall was changed for the betterandhow oldLady Southdown was goneand how Pitt wastaking hisstation in the countyas became a Crawley infact. Then the great dinner-bell having rungthe familyassembledat dinnerat which meal Rawdon Junior wasplaced byhis auntthe good-natured lady of the houseSir Pittbeing uncommonly attentive to his sister-in-law athis ownright hand.

LittleRawdon exhibited a fine appetite and showed agentlemanlikebehaviour.

"Ilike to dine here" he said to his aunt when he hadcompletedhis mealat the conclusion of whichandafter adecent grace by Sir Pittthe younger son andheir wasintroducedand was perched on a high chairby theBaronet's sidewhile the daughter took possessionof theplace and the little wine-glass prepared for hernear hermother.  "I like to dine here" said Rawdon Minorlooking upat his relation's kind face.

"Why?"said the good Lady Jane.

"Idine in the kitchen when I am at home" repliedRawdonMinor"or else with Briggs." But Becky was soengagedwith the Baronether hostpouring out a flood ofcomplimentsand delights and rapturesand admiringyoung PittBinkiewhom she declared to be the mostbeautifulintelligentnoble-looking little creatureand solike hisfatherthat she did not hear the remarks of herown fleshand blood at the other end of the broadshiningtable.

As aguestand it being the first night of his arrivalRawdon theSecond was allowed to sit up until the hourwhen teabeing overand a great gilt book being laid onthe tablebefore Sir Pittall the domestics of the familystreamedinand Sir Pitt read prayers.  It was the firsttime thepoor little boy had ever witnessed or heard ofsuch aceremonial.

The househad been much improved even since theBaronet'sbrief reignand was pronounced by Becky to beperfectcharmingdelightfulwhen she surveyed it inhiscompany.  As for little Rawdonwho examined it withthechildren for his guidesit seemed to him a perfectpalace ofenchantment and wonder.  There were longgalleriesand ancient state bedroomsthere werepicturesand old Chinaand armour.  There were the roomsin whichGrandpapa diedand by which the childrenwalkedwith terrified looks.  "Who was Grandpapa?" heasked; andthey told him how he used to be very oldandused to bewheeled about in a garden-chairand theyshowed himthe garden-chair one day rotting in theout-housein which it had lain since the old gentleman hadbeenwheeled away yonder to the churchof which thespire wasglittering over the park elms.

Thebrothers had good occupation for several morningsinexamining the improvements which had been effectedby SirPitt's genius and economy.  And as they walkedor rodeand looked at themthey could talk withouttoo muchboring each other.  And Pitt took care to tellRawdonwhat a heavy outlay of money these improvementshadoccasionedand that a man of landed and fundedpropertywas often very hard pressed for twenty pounds."Thereis that new lodge-gate" said Pittpointing toit humblywith the bamboo cane"I can no more pay for itbefore thedividends in January than I can fly."

"Ican lend youPitttill then" Rawdon answered ratherruefully;and they went in and looked at the restored lodgewhere thefamily arms were just new scraped in stoneand whereold Mrs. Lockfor the first time these manylongyearshad tight doorssound roofsand wholewindows.

CHAPTERXLVBetweenHampshire and London

Sir PittCrawley had done more than repair fences andrestoredilapidated lodges on the Queen's Crawley estate.Like awise man he had set to work to rebuild theinjuredpopularity of his house and stop up the gaps andruins inwhich his name had been left by his disreputableandthriftless old predecessor.  He was elected for theboroughspeedily after his father's demise; a magistratea memberof parliamenta county magnate and representativeof anancient familyhe made it his duty to showhimselfbefore the Hampshire publicsubscribedhandsomelyto the county charitiescalled assiduously uponall thecounty folkand laid himself out in a word to takethatposition in Hampshireand in the Empire afterwardsto whichhe thought his prodigious talents justlyentitledhim.  Lady Jane was instructed to be friendly withtheFuddlestonesand the Wapshotsand the otherfamousbaronetstheir neighbours.  Their carriages mightfrequentlybe seen in the Queen's Crawley avenue now;they dinedpretty frequently at the Hall (where the cookerywas sogood that it was clear Lady Jane very seldomhad a handin it)and in return Pitt and his wife mostenergeticallydined out in all sorts of weather and at allsorts ofdistances.  For though Pitt did not care for jovialitybeing afrigid man of poor hearth and appetiteyet heconsideredthat to be hospitable and condescendingwas quiteincumbent on-his stationand every time thathe got aheadache from too long an after-dinner sittinghe feltthat he was a martyr to duty.  He talked aboutcropscorn-lawspoliticswith the best country gentlemen.He (whohad been formerly inclined to be a sadfree-thinkeron these points) entered into poaching andgamepreserving with ardour.  He didn't hunt; he wasn'ta huntingman; he was a man of books and peacefulhabits;but he thought that the breed of horses must bekept up inthe countryand that the breed of foxes mustthereforebe looked toand for his partif his friendSirHuddlestone Fuddlestoneliked to draw his countryand meetas of old the F.  hounds used to do at Queen'sCrawleyhe should be happy to see him thereand thegentlemenof the Fuddlestone hunt.  And to Lady Southdown'sdismay toohe became more orthodox in his tendenciesevery day;gave up preaching in public and attendingmeeting-houses;went stoutly to church; calledon theBishop and all the Clergy at Winchester; and madenoobjection when the Venerable Archdeacon Trumperasked fora game of whist.  What pangs must have beenthose ofLady Southdownand what an utter castaway shemust havethought her son-in-law for permitting sucha godlessdiversion!  And whenon the return of the familyfrom anoratorio at Winchesterthe Baronet announcedto theyoung ladies that he should next year veryprobablytake them to the "county balls" they worshippedhim forhis kindness.  Lady Jane was only too obedientandperhapsglad herself to go.  The Dowager wrote off thedirestdescriptions of her daughter's worldly behaviour totheauthoress of the Washerwoman of Finchley Commonat theCape; and her house in Brighton being about thistimeunoccupiedreturned to that watering-placeherabsencebeing not very much deplored by her children.We maysupposetoothat Rebeccaon paying a secondvisit toQueen's Crawleydid not feel particularly grievedat theabsence of the lady of the medicine chest; thoughshe wrotea Christmas letter to her Ladyshipin which sherespectfullyrecalled herself to Lady Southdown'srecollectionspoke with gratitude of the delight which herLadyship'sconversation had given her on the formervisitdilated on the kindness with which her Ladyship hadtreatedher in sicknessand declared that everything atQueen'sCrawley reminded her of her absent friend.

A greatpart of the altered demeanour and popularityof SirPitt Crawley might have been traced to the counselsof thatastute little lady of Curzon Street.  "You remain aBaronet--youconsent to be a mere country gentleman"she saidto himwhile he had been her guest in London."NoSir Pitt CrawleyI know you better.  I know yourtalentsand your ambition.  You fancy you hide thembothbutyou can conceal neither from me.  I showedLordSteyne your pamphlet on malt.  He was familiarwith itand said it was in the opinion of the whole Cabinetthe mostmasterly thing that had appeared on the subject.TheMinistry has its eye upon youand I know what youwant. You want to distinguish yourself in Parliament;every onesays you are the finest speaker in England(for yourspeeches at Oxford are still remembered).  Youwant to beMember for the Countywherewith your ownvote andyour borough at your backyou can commandanything. And you want to be Baron Crawley of Queen'sCrawleyand will be before you die.  I saw it all.  I couldread yourheartSir Pitt.  If I had a husband whopossessedyour intellect as he does your nameI sometimesthink Ishould not be unworthy of him--but--but I amyourkinswoman now" she added with a laugh.  "PoorlittlepennilessI have got a little interest--and whoknowsperhaps the mouse may be able to aid the lion."PittCrawley was amazed and enraptured with herspeech. "How that woman comprehends me!" he said."Inever could get Jane to read three pages of the maltpamphlet. She has no idea that I have commandingtalents orsecret ambition.  So they remember my speakingat Oxforddo they? The rascals!  Now that I representmy boroughand may sit for the countythey begin torecollectme!  WhyLord Steyne cut me at the levee lastyear; theyare beginning to find out that Pitt Crawley issome oneat last.  Yesthe man was always the samewhom thesepeople neglected:  it was only the opportunitythat waswantingand I will show them now that I canspeak andact as well as write.  Achilles did not declarehimselfuntil they gave him the sword.  I hold it nowandthe worldshall yet hear of Pitt Crawley."

Thereforeit was that this roguish diplomatist has grownsohospitable; that he was so civil to oratorios andhospitals;so kind to Deans and Chapters; so generous ingiving andaccepting dinners; so uncommonly gracious tofarmers onmarket-days; and so much interested aboutcountybusiness; and that the Christmas at the Hall was thegayestwhich had been known there for many a long day.

OnChristmas Day a great family gathering took place.All theCrawleys from the Rectory came to dine.  Rebeccawas asfrank and fond of Mrs. Bute as if the other hadnever beenher enemy; she was affectionately interestedin thedear girlsand surprised at the progress which theyhad madein music since her timeand insisted uponencoringone of the duets out of the great song-bookswhich Jimgrumblinghad been forced to bring under hisarm fromthe Rectory.  Mrs. Buteperforcewas obligedto adopt adecent demeanour towards the little adventuress--ofcourse being free to discourse with her daughtersafterwardsabout the absurd respect with which Sir Pitttreatedhis sister-in-law.  But Jimwho had sat next toher atdinnerdeclared she was a trumpand one and allof theRector's family agreed that the little Rawdon was afine boy. They respected a possible baronet in the boybetweenwhom and the title there was only the littlesicklypale Pitt Binkie.

Thechildren were very good friends.  Pitt Binkie was toolittle adog for such a big dog as Rawdon to play with; andMatildabeing only a girlof course not fit companionfor ayoung gentleman who was near eight years oldandgoing intojackets very soon.  He took the command ofthis smallparty at once--the little girl and the little boyfollowinghim about with great reverence at such timesas hecondescended to sport with them.  His happinessandpleasure in the country were extreme.  The kitchengardenpleased him hugelythe flowers moderatelybutthepigeons and the poultryand the stables when hewasallowed to visit themwere delightful objects tohim. He resisted being kissed by the Misses Crawleybut heallowed Lady Jane sometimes to embrace himandit was byher side that he liked to sit whenthe signalto retireto the drawing-room being giventhe ladiesleft thegentlemen to their claret--by her side ratherthan byhis mother.  For Rebeccaseeing that tendernesswas thefashioncalled Rawdon to her one evening andstoopeddown and kissed him in the presence of all theladies.

He lookedher full in the face after the operationtremblingand turning very redas his wont was whenmoved. "You never kiss me at homeMamma" he saidat whichthere was a general silence and consternation anda by nomeans pleasant look in Becky's eyes.

Rawdon wasfond of his sister-in-lawfor her regardfor hisson.  Lady Jane and Becky did not get on quite sowell atthis visit as on occasion of the former onewhentheColonel's wife was bent upon pleasing.  Those twospeechesof the child struck rather a chill.  Perhaps SirPitt wasrather too attentive to her.

ButRawdonas became his age and sizewas fonderof thesociety of the men than of the womenand neverwearied ofaccompanying his sire to the stableswhithertheColonel retired to smoke his cigar--Jimthe Rector'ssonsometimes joining his cousin in that and other amusements.He and theBaronet's keeper were very closefriendstheir mutual taste for "dawgs" bringing themmuchtogether.  On one dayMr. Jamesthe ColonelandHornthekeeperwent and shot pheasantstaking littleRawdonwith them.  On another most blissful morningthese fourgentlemen partook of the amusement ofrat-huntingin a barnthan which sport Rawdon as yet hadnever seenanything more noble.  They stopped up theends ofcertain drains in the barninto the other openingsof whichferrets were insertedand then stood silentlyaloofwith uplifted stakes in their handsand an anxiouslittleterrier (Mr. James's celebrated "dawg" Forcepsindeed)scarcely breathing from excitementlisteningmotionlesson three legsto the faint squeaking of theratsbelow.  Desperately bold at lastthe persecutedanimalsbolted above-ground--the terrier accounted for onethe keeperfor another; Rawdonfrom flurry andexcitementmissed his ratbut on the other hand hehalf-murdereda ferret.

But thegreatest day of all was that on which SirHuddlestoneFuddlestone's hounds met upon the lawnat Queen'sCrawley.

That was afamous sight for little Rawdon.  At half-pasttenTomMoodySir Huddlestone Fuddlestone'shuntsmanwas seen trotting up the avenuefollowed by thenoble packof hounds in a compact body--the rear beingbrought upby the two whips clad in stained scarletfrocks--lighthard-featured lads on well-bred lean horsespossessingmarvellous dexterity in casting the points oftheir longheavy whips at the thinnest part of any dog'sskin whodares to straggle from the main bodyor totake theslightest noticeor even so much as winkat thehares andrabbits starting under their noses.

Next comesboy JackTom Moody's sonwho weighsfivestonemeasures eight-and-forty inchesand will neverbe anybigger.  He is perched on a large raw-boned hunterhalf-coveredby a capacious saddle.  This animal is SirHuddlestoneFuddlestone's favourite horse the Nob.Otherhorsesridden by other small boysarrive fromtime totimeawaiting their masterswho will comecanteringon anon.

Tom Moodyrides up to the door of the Hallwhere heiswelcomed by the butlerwho offers him drinkwhich hedeclines. He and his pack then draw off into a shelteredcorner ofthe lawnwhere the dogs roll on the grassandplay orgrowl angrily at one anotherever and anonbreakingout into furious fight speedily to be quelled byTom'svoiceunmatched at ratingor the snaky thongsof thewhips.

Many younggentlemen canter up on thoroughbredhacksspatter-dashed to the kneeand enter the house todrinkcherry-brandy and pay their respects to the ladiesormoremodest and sportsmanlikedivest themselvesof theirmud-bootsexchange their hacks for their huntersand warmtheir blood by a preliminary gallop round thelawn. Then they collect round the pack in the corner andtalk withTom Moody of past sportand the merits ofSnivellerand Diamondand of the state of the countryand of thewretched breed of foxes.

SirHuddlestone presently appears mounted on a clevercob andrides up to the Hallwhere he enters and does thecivilthing by the ladiesafter whichbeing a man offew wordshe proceeds to business.  The hounds aredrawn upto the hall-doorand little Rawdon descendsamongstthemexcited yet half-alarmed by the caresseswhich theybestow upon himat the thumps he receivesfrom theirwaving tailsand at their canine bickeringsscarcelyrestrained by Tom Moody's tongue and lash.

MeanwhileSir Huddlestone has hoisted himselfunwieldilyon the Nob:  "Let's try Sowster's SpinneyTom"says theBaronet"Farmer Mangle tells me there are twofoxes init." Tom blows his horn and trots offfollowed bythe packby the whipsby the young gents fromWinchesterby the farmers of the neighbourhoodby thelabourersof the parish on footwith whom the day isa greatholidaySir Huddlestone bringing up the rear withColonelCrawleyand the whole cortege disappearsdown theavenue.

TheReverend Bute Crawley (who has been too modestto appearat the public meet before his nephew'swindows)whom Tom Moody remembers forty years backa slenderdivine riding the wildest horsesjumping thewidestbrooksand larking over the newest gates in thecountry--hisReverencewe sayhappens to trot out fromtheRectory Lane on his powerful black horse just as SirHuddlestonepasses; he joins the worthy Baronet.  Houndsandhorsemen disappearand little Rawdon remains on thedoorstepswondering and happy.

During theprogress of this memorable holidaylittleRawdonifhe had got no special liking for his unclealwaysawful and cold and locked up in his studyplungedinjustice-business and surrounded by bailiffs and farmers--hasgained the good graces of his married and maidenauntsofthe two little folks of the Halland of Jim of theRectorywhom Sir Pitt is encouraging to pay his addressesto one ofthe young ladieswith an understanding doubtlessthat heshall be presented to the living when it shallbe vacatedby his fox-hunting old sire.  Jim has given upthat sporthimself and confines himself to a little harmlessduck- orsnipe-shootingor a little quiet trifling with theratsduring the Christmas holidaysafter which he willreturn tothe University and try and not be pluckedoncemore. He has already eschewed green coatsredneckclothsand other worldly ornamentsand is preparinghimselffor a change in his condition.  In this cheap andthriftyway Sir Pitt tries to pay off his debt to his family.

Alsobefore this merry Christmas was overthe Baronethadscrewed up courage enough to give his brotheranotherdraft on his bankersand for no less a sum than ahundredpoundsan act which caused Sir Pitt cruel pangsat firstbut which made him glow afterwards to thinkhimselfone of the most generous of men.  Rawdon and hisson wentaway with the utmost heaviness of heart.  Beckyand theladies parted with some alacrityhoweverand ourfriendreturned to London to commence those avocationswith whichwe find her occupied when this chapter begins.Under hercare the Crawley House in Great Gaunt Streetwas quiterejuvenescent and ready for the reception ofSir Pittand his familywhen the Baronet came toLondon toattend his duties in Parliament and to assume thatpositionin the country for which his vast genius fittedhim.

For thefirst sessionthis profound dissembler hid hisprojectsand never opened his lips but to present apetitionfrom Mudbury.  But he attended assiduously in hisplace andlearned thoroughly the routine and business oftheHouse.  At home he gave himself up to the perusal ofBlueBooksto the alarm and wonder of Lady Janewhothought hewas killing himself by late hours and intenseapplication. And he made acquaintance with the ministersand thechiefs of his partydetermining to rank asone ofthem before many years were over.

LadyJane's sweetness and kindness had inspiredRebeccawith such a contempt for her ladyship as the littlewomanfound no small difficulty in concealing.  That sortofgoodness and simplicity which Lady Jane possessedannoyedour friend Beckyand it was impossible for her attimes notto showor to let the other divineher scorn.Herpresencetoorendered Lady Jane uneasy.  Herhusbandtalked constantly with Becky.  Signs of intelligenceseemed topass between themand Pitt spoke with her onsubjectson which he never thought of discoursing withLadyJane.  The latter did not understand themto be surebut it wasmortifying to remain silent; still moremortifyingto know that you had nothing to sayand hear thatlittleaudacious Mrs. Rawdon dashing on from subject tosubjectwith a word for every manand a joke always pat;and to sitin one's own house aloneby the firesideandwatchingall the men round your rival.

In thecountrywhen Lady Jane was telling stories tothechildrenwho clustered about her knees (littleRawdoninto the bargainwho was very fond of her)andBecky cameinto the roomsneering with green scornfuleyespoorLady Jane grew silent under those balefulglances. Her simple little fancies shrank away tremulouslyas fairiesin the story-booksbefore a superior badangel. She could not go onalthough Rebeccawith thesmallestinflection of sarcasm in her voicebesought hertocontinue that charming story.  And on her side gentlethoughtsand simple pleasures were odious to Mrs. Becky;theydiscorded with her; she hated people for liking them;shespurned children and children-lovers.  "I have notaste forbread and butter" she would saywhencaricaturingLady Jane and her ways to my Lord Steyne.

"Nomore has a certain person for holy water" hislordshipreplied with a bow and a grin and a great jarringlaughafterwards.

So thesetwo ladies did not see much of each otherexceptupon those occasions when the younger brother'swifehaving an object to gain from the otherfrequentedher. They my-loved and my-deared each other assiduouslybut keptapart generallywhereas Sir Pittin themidst ofhis multiplied avocationsfound daily time tosee hissister-in-law.

On theoccasion of his first Speaker's dinnerSir Pitttook theopportunity of appearing before his sister-in-lawin hisuniform--that old diplomatic suit which he hadworn whenattache to the Pumpernickel legation.

Beckycomplimented him upon that dress and admiredhim almostas much as his own wife and childrentowhom hedisplayed himself before he set out.  She saidthat itwas only the thoroughbred gentleman who couldwear theCourt suit with advantage:  it was only your menof ancientrace whom the culotte courte became.  Pittlookeddown with complacency at his legswhich had notin truthmuch more symmetry or swell than the leanCourtsword which dangled by his side--looked downat hislegsand thought in his heart that he was killing.

When hewas goneMrs. Becky made a caricatureof hisfigurewhich she showed to Lord Steyne when hearrived. His lordship carried off the sketchdelightedwith theaccuracy of the resemblance.  He had done SirPittCrawley the honour to meet him at Mrs. Becky'shouse andhad been most gracious to the new Baronetandmember.  Pitt was struck too by the deference withwhich thegreat Peer treated his sister-in-lawby her easeandsprightliness in the conversationand by the delightwith whichthe other men of the party listened to her talk.LordSteyne made no doubt but that the Baronet hadonlycommenced his career in public lifeand expectedratheranxiously to hear him as an orator; as they wereneighbours(for Great Gaunt Street leads into GauntSquarewhereof Gaunt Houseas everybody knowsformsone side)my lord hoped that as soon as Lady Steynearrived inLondon she would have the honour of makingtheacquaintance of Lady Crawley.  He left a card uponhisneighbour in the course of a day or twohaving neverthoughtfit to notice his predecessorthough they hadlived neareach other for near a century past.

In themidst of these intrigues and fine parties andwise andbrilliant personages Rawdon felt himself moreand moreisolated every day.  He was allowed to go tothe clubmore; to dine abroad with bachelor friends;to comeand go when he likedwithout any questionsbeingasked.  And he and Rawdon the younger many atime wouldwalk to Gaunt Street and sit with the ladyand thechildren there while Sir Pitt was closeted withRebeccaon his way to the Houseor on  his returnfrom it.

Theex-Colonel would sit for hours in his brother'shouse verysilentand thinking and doing as little aspossible. He was glad to be employed of an errand; togo andmake inquiries about a horse or a servantor tocarve theroast mutton for the dinner of the children.He wasbeat and cowed into laziness and submission.Delilahhad imprisoned him and cut his hair offtoo.  Thebold andreckless young blood of ten-years back wassubjugatedand was turned into a torpidsubmissivemiddle-agedstout gentleman.

And poorLady Jane was aware that Rebecca hadcaptivatedher husbandalthough she and Mrs. Rawdonmy-dearedand my-loved each other every day they met.                   

CHAPTERXLVIStrugglesand Trials

Ourfriends at Brompton were meanwhile passing theirChristmasafter their fashion and in a manner by nomeans toocheerful.

Out of thehundred pounds a yearwhich was aboutthe amountof her incomethe Widow Osborne had beenin thehabit of giving up nearly three-fourths to herfather andmotherfor the expenses of herself and herlittleboy.  With #120 moresupplied by Josthis familyof fourpeopleattended by a single Irish servant whoalso didfor Clapp and his wifemight manage to livein decentcomfort through the yearand hold up theirheads yetand be able to give a friend a dish of tea stillafter thestorms and disappointments of their early life.Sedleystill maintained his ascendency over the family ofMr. Clapphis ex-clerk.  Clapp remembered the timewhensitting on the edge of the chairhe tossed off abumper tothe health of "Mrs. S--Miss EmmyandMr. Josephin India" at the merchant's rich table inRussellSquare.  Time magnified the splendour of thoserecollectionsin the honest clerk's bosom.  Whenever he cameup fromthe kitchen-parlour to the drawing-room andpartook oftea or gin-and-water with Mr. Sedleyhewould say"This was not what you was accustomed tooncesir" and as gravely and reverentially drink thehealth ofthe ladies as he had done in the days of theirutmostprosperity.  He thought Miss 'Melia's playing thedivinestmusic ever performedand her the finest lady.He neverwould sit down before Sedley at the club evennor wouldhe have that gentleman's character abused byany memberof the society.  He had seen the first men inLondonshaking hands with Mr. S--; he said"He'dknown himin times when Rothschild might be seen on'Changewith him any dayand he owed him personallyeverythink."

Clappwith the best of characters and handwritingshad beenable very soon after his master's disaster to findotheremployment for himself.  "Such a little fish as mecan swimin any bucket" he used to remarkand amember ofthe house from which old Sedley had seceded wasvery gladto make use of Mr. Clapp's services and torewardthem with a comfortable salary.  In fineall Sedley'swealthyfriends had dropped off one by oneand thispoorex-dependent still remained faithfully attached tohim.

Out of thesmall residue of her income which Ameliakept backfor herselfthe widow had need of all thethrift andcare possible in order to enable her to keepherdarling boy dressed in such a manner as becameGeorgeOsborne's sonand to defray the expenses of thelittleschool to whichafter much misgiving andreluctanceand many secret pangs and fears on her ownpartshehad been induced to send the lad.  She had sat upof nightsconning lessons and spelling over crabbedgrammarsand geography books in order to teach them toGeorgy. She had worked even at the Latin accidencefondlyhoping that she might be capable of instructinghim inthat language.  To part with him all dayto sendhim out tothe mercy of a schoolmaster's cane and hisschoolfellows'roughnesswas almost like weaning himover againto that weak motherso tremulous and full ofsensibility. Hefor his partrushed off to the school withthe utmosthappiness.  He was longing for the change.Thatchildish gladness wounded his motherwho washerself sogrieved to part with him.  She would rather havehad himmore sorryshe thoughtand then was deeplyrepentantwithin herself for daring to be so selfish as towish herown son to be unhappy.

Georgymade great progress in the schoolwhich waskept by afriend of his mother's constant admirertheRev. Mr. Binny.  He brought home numberless prizes andtestimonialsof ability.  He told his mother countless storieseverynight about his school-companions:  and what afinefellow Lyons wasand what a sneak Sniffin wasandhowSteel's father actually supplied the meat for theestablishmentwhereas Golding's mother came in acarriageto fetch him every Saturdayand how Neat hadstraps tohis trowsers--might he have straps?--and howBull Majorwas so strong (though only in Eutropius) thatit wasbelieved he could lick the UsherMr. Wardhimself. So Amelia learned to know every one of the boysin thatschool as well as Georgy himselfand of nightsshe usedto help him in his exercises and puzzle her littlehead overhis lessons as eagerly as if she was herselfgoing inthe morning into the presence of the master.Onceafter a certain combat with Master SmithGeorgecame hometo his mother with a black eyeand braggedprodigiouslyto his parent and his delighted oldgrandfatherabout his valour in the fightin whichif thetruth wasknown he did not behave with particular heroismand inwhich he decidedly had the worst.  But Ameliahas neverforgiven that Smith to this daythough he isnow apeaceful apothecary near Leicester Square.

In thesequiet labours and harmless cares the gentlewidow'slife was passing awaya silver hair or two markingtheprogress of time on her head and a line deepeningever solittle on her fair forehead.  She used to smile atthesemarks of time.  "What matters it" she asked"Foran oldwoman like me?" All she hoped for was to live tosee herson greatfamousand gloriousas he deservedto be. She kept his copy-bookshis drawingsandcompositionsand showed them about in her little circle asif theywere miracles of genius.  She confided some ofthesespecimens to Miss Dobbinto show them to MissOsborneGeorge's auntto show them to Mr. Osbornehimself--tomake that old man repent of his cruelty andillfeeling towards him who was gone.  All her husband'sfaults andfoibles she had buried in the grave with him:she onlyremembered the loverwho had married her atallsacrificesthe noble husbandso brave and beautifulin whosearms she had hung on the morning when he hadgone awayto fightand die gloriously for his king.  Fromheaven thehero must be smiling down upon that paragonof a boywhom he had left to comfort and console her.We haveseen how one of George's grandfathers (Mr.Osborne)in his easy chair in Russell Squaredaily grewmoreviolent and moodyand how his daughterwith herfinecarriageand her fine horsesand her name on halfthe publiccharity-lists of the townwas a lonelymiserablepersecutedold maid.  She thought again and againof thebeautiful little boyher brother's sonwhom shehad seen. She longed to be allowed to drive in the finecarriageto the house in which he livedand she usedto lookout day after day as she took her solitary drivein theparkin hopes that she might see him.  Her sisterthebanker's ladyoccasionally condescended to pay herold homeand companion a visit in Russell Square.  Shebrought acouple of sickly children attended by a primnurseandin a faint genteel giggling tone cackled to hersisterabout her fine acquaintanceand how her littleFrederickwas the image of Lord Claud Lollypop andher sweetMaria had been noticed by the Baroness as theyweredriving in their donkey-chaise at Roehampton.  Sheurged herto make her papa do something for the darlings.Frederickshe had determined should go into the Guards;and ifthey made an elder son of him (and Mr. Bullockwaspositively ruining and pinching himself to death tobuy land)how was the darling girl to be provided for?"Iexpect YOUdear" Mrs. Bullock would say"for ofcourse myshare of our Papa's property must go to thehead ofthe houseyou know.  Dear Rhoda McMull willdisengagethe whole of the Castletoddy property as soonas poordear Lord Castletoddy dieswho is quiteepileptic;and little Macduff McMull will be ViscountCastletoddy. Both the Mr. Bludyers of Mincing Lane havesettledtheir fortunes on Fanny Bludyer's little boy.  MydarlingFrederick must positively be an eldest son; and--and do askPapa to bring us back his account inLombardStreetwill youdear? It doesn't look wellhis goingto Stumpyand Rowdy's." After which kind of speechesin whichfashion and the main chance were blendedtogetherand after a kisswhich was like the contact of anoyster--Mrs.Frederick Bullock would gather herstarchednurslings and simper back into her carriage.

Everyvisit which this leader of ton paid to her familywas moreunlucky for her.  Her father paid more moneyintoStumpy and Rowdy's.  Her patronage became moreand moreinsufferable.  The poor widow in the littlecottage atBromptonguarding her treasure therelittleknew howeagerly some people coveted it.

On thatnight when Jane Osborne had told her fatherthat shehad seen his grandsonthe old man had madeher noreplybut he had shown no anger--and had badehergood-night on going himself to his room in rather akindlyvoice.  And he must have meditated on what shesaid andhave made some inquiries of the Dobbin familyregardingher visitfor a fortnight after it took placeheasked herwhere was her little French watch and chainshe usedto wear?

"Ibought it with my moneysir" she said in a greatfright.

"Goand order another like itor a better if you canget it"said the old gentleman and lapsed again intosilence.

Of latethe Misses Dobbin more than once repeatedtheirentreaties to Ameliato allow George to visit them.His aunthad shown her inclination; perhaps hisgrandfatherhimselfthey hintedmight be disposed to bereconciledto him.  SurelyAmelia could not refuse suchadvantageouschances for the boy.  Nor could shebutsheacceded to their overtures with a very heavy andsuspiciousheartwas always uneasy during the child'sabsencefrom herand welcomed him back as if he wasrescuedout of some danger.  He brought back money andtoysatwhich the widow looked with alarm and jealousy;she askedhim always if he had seen any gentleman--"Onlyold Sir Williamwho drove him about in the four-wheeledchaiseand Mr. Dobbinwho arrived on thebeautifulbay horse in the afternoon--in the green coatand pinkneck-clothwith the gold-headed whipwhopromisedto show him the Tower of London and takehim outwith the Surrey hounds." At lasthe said"Therewas an oldgentlemanwith thick eyebrowsand a broadhatandlarge chain and seals." He came one day as thecoachmanwas lunging Georgy round the lawn on thegraypony.  "He looked at me very much.  He shook verymuch. I said 'My name is Norval' after dinner.  My auntbegan tocry.  She is always crying." Such was George'sreport onthat night.

ThenAmelia knew that the boy had seen hisgrandfather;and looked out feverishly for a proposalwhich shewas sure would followand which camein factin a fewdays afterwards.  Mr. Osborne formally offered totake theboy and make him heir to the fortune which hehadintended that his father should inherit.  He wouldmake Mrs.George Osborne an allowancesuch as toassure hera decent competency.  If Mrs. George Osborneproposedto marry againas Mr. O.  heard was herintentionhe would not withdraw that allowance.  But itmust beunderstood that the child would live entirely withhisgrandfather in Russell Squareor at whatever otherplace Mr.O.  should selectand that he would beoccasionallypermitted to see Mrs. George Osborne at herownresidence.  This message was brought or read to herin aletter one daywhen her mother was from homeand herfather absent as usual in the City.

She wasnever seen angry but twice or thrice in herlifeandit was in one of these moods that Mr. Osborne'sattorneyhad the fortune to behold her.  She rose uptremblingand flushing very much as soon asafterreadingthe letterMr. Poe handed it to herand she tore thepaper intoa hundred fragmentswhich she trod on.  "Imarryagain!  I take money to part from my child!  Whodaresinsult me by proposing such a thing? Tell Mr.Osborne itis a cowardly lettersir--a cowardly letter--I will notanswer it.  I wish you good morningsir--andshe bowedme out of the room like a tragedy Queen"said thelawyer who told the story.

Herparents never remarked her agitation on that dayand shenever told them of the interview.  They had theirownaffairs to interest themaffairs which deeplyinterestedthis innocent and unconscious lady.  The oldgentlemanher fatherwas always dabbling in speculation.We haveseen how the wine company and the coalcompanyhad failed him.  Butprowling about the Cityalwayseagerly and restlessly stillhe lighted upon someotherschemeof which he thought so well that heembarkedin it in spite of the remonstrances of Mr. Clappto whomindeed he never dared to tell how far he hadengagedhimself in it.  And as it was always Mr. Sedley'smaxim notto talk about money matters before womenthey hadno inkling of the misfortunes that were in storefor themuntil the unhappy old gentleman was forced tomakegradual confessions.

The billsof the little householdwhich had been settledweeklyfirst fell into arrear.  The remittances had notarrivedfrom IndiaMr. Sedley told his wife with a disturbedface. As she had paid her bills very regularly hithertoone or twoof the tradesmen to whom the poor lady wasobliged togo round asking for time were very angry ata delay towhich they were perfectly used from moreirregularcustomers.  Emmy's contributionpaid overcheerfullywithout any questionskept the little companyinhalf-rations however.  And the first six months passedawaypretty easilyold Sedley still keeping up with thenotionthat his shares must rise and that all would bewell.

No sixtypoundshowevercame to help the householdat the endof the half yearand it fell deeper and deeperintotrouble--Mrs. Sedleywho was growing infirm andwas muchshakenremained silent or wept a great dealwith Mrs.Clapp in the kitchen.  The butcher wasparticularlysurlythe grocer insolent:  once or twice littleGeorgy hadgrumbled about the dinnersand Ameliawhostillwould have been satisfied with a slice of bread forher owndinnercould not but perceive that her son wasneglectedand purchased little things out of her privatepurse tokeep the boy in health.

At lastthey told heror told her such a garbled storyas peoplein difficulties tell.  One dayher own moneyhavingbeen receivedand Amelia about to pay it overshewhohad kept an account of the moneys expendedby herproposed to keep a certain portion back out ofherdividendhaving contracted engagements for a newsuit forGeorgy.

Then itcame out that Jos's remittances were not paidthat thehouse was in difficultieswhich Amelia ought tohave seenbeforeher mother saidbut she cared fornothing ornobody except Georgy.  At this she passed allher moneyacross the tablewithout a wordto hermotherand returned to her room to cry her eyes out.She had agreat access of sensibility too that daywhenobliged togo and countermand the clothesthe darlingclothes onwhich she had set her heart for ChristmasDayandthe cut and fashion of which she had arrangedin manyconversations with a small millinerher friend.

Hardest ofallshe had to break the matter to Georgywho made aloud outcry.  Everybody had new clothes atChristmas. The others would laugh at him.  He wouldhave newclothes.  She had promised them to him.  Thepoor widowhad only kisses to give him.  She darned theold suitin tears.  She cast about among her little ornamentsto see ifshe could sell anything to procure the desirednovelties. There was her India shawl that Dobbin hadsent her. She remembered in former days going with hermother toa fine India shop on Ludgate Hillwhere theladies hadall sorts of dealings and bargains in thesearticles. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes shone withpleasureas she thought of this resourceand she kissedawayGeorge to school in the morningsmiling brightlyafterhim.  The boy felt that there was good news in herlook.

Packing upher shawl in a handkerchief (another ofthe giftsof the good Major)she hid them under hercloak andwalked flushed and eager all the way toLudgateHilltripping along by the park wall and runningover thecrossingsso that many a man turned as shehurried byhim and looked after her rosy pretty face.  Shecalculatedhow she should spend the proceeds of hershawl--howbesides the clothesshe would buy the booksthat helonged forand pay his half-year's schooling; andhow shewould buy a cloak for her father instead ofthat oldgreat-coat which he wore.  She was not mistakenas to thevalue of the Major's gift.  It was a very fine andbeautifulweband the merchant made a very goodbargainwhen he gave her twenty guineas for her shawl.

She ran onamazed and flurried with her riches toDarton'sshopin St.  Paul's Churchyardand therepurchasedthe Parents' Assistant and the Sandford andMertonGeorgy longed forand got into the coach therewith herparceland went home exulting.  And she pleasedherself bywriting in the fly-leaf in her neatest littlehand"George OsborneA Christmas gift from hisaffectionate-mother."The books are extant to this daywith thefair delicate superscription.

She wasgoing from her own room with the books inher handto place them on George's tablewhere hemight findthem on his return from schoolwhen inthepassageshe and her mother met.  The gilt bindingsof theseven handsome little volumes caught the old lady'seye.

"Whatare those?" she said.

"Somebooks for Georgy" Amelia replied--I--Ipromisedthem to him at Christmas."

"Books!"cried the elder lady indignantly"Bookswhen thewhole house wants bread!  Bookswhen to keepyou andyour son in luxuryand your dear father out ofgaolI'vesold every trinket I hadthe India shawl frommy backeven down to the very spoonsthat our tradesmenmightn'tinsult usand that Mr. Clappwhich indeedhe isjustly entitledbeing not a hard landlordand acivil manand a fathermight have his rent.  OhAmelia!you breakmy heart with your books and that boy ofyourswhom you are ruiningthough part with him youwill not. OhAmeliamay God send you a more dutifulchild thanI have had!  There's Josdeserts his father inhis oldage; and there's Georgewho might be providedforandwho might be richgoing to school like a lordwith agold watch and chain round his neck--while mydeardearold man is without a sh--shilling." Hystericsobs andcries ended Mrs. Sedley's speech--it echoedthroughevery room in the small housewhereof the otherfemaleinmates heard every word of the colloquy.

"OhMotherMother!" cried poor Amelia in reply."Youtold me nothing--I--I promised him the books.I--I onlysold my shawl this morning.  Take the money--takeeverything"--and with quivering hands she tookout hersilverand her sovereigns--her precious goldensovereignswhich she thrust into the hands of hermotherwhence they overflowed and tumbledrollingdown thestairs.

And thenshe went into her roomand sank down indespairand utter misery.  She saw it all now.  Herselfishnesswas sacrificing the boy.  But for her he might havewealthstationeducationand his father's placewhichthe elderGeorge had forfeited for her sake.  She had butto speakthe wordsand her father was restored tocompetencyand the boy raised to fortune.  Ohwhat aconvictionit was to that tender and stricken heart!

CHAPTERXLVIIGauntHouse

All theworld knows that Lord Steyne's town palacestands inGaunt Squareout of which Great Gaunt Streetleadswhither we first conducted Rebeccain the timeof thedeparted Sir Pitt Crawley.  Peering over the railingsandthrough the black trees into the garden of theSquareyou see a few miserable governesses withwan-facedpupils wandering round and round itand roundthe drearygrass-plot in the centre of which rises thestatue ofLord Gauntwho fought at Mindenin athree-tailedwigand otherwise habited like a RomanEmperor. Gaunt House occupies nearly a side of the Square.Theremaining three sides are composed of mansions thathavepassed away into dowagerism--talldark houseswithwindow-frames of stoneor picked out of a lighterred. Little light seems to be behind those leancomfortlesscasements nowand hospitality to have passedaway fromthose doors as much as the laced lacqueysandlink-boys of old timeswho used to put out theirtorches inthe blank iron extinguishers that still flank thelamps overthe steps.  Brass plates have penetrated intothesquare--Doctorsthe Diddlesex Bank WesternBranch--theEnglish and European Reunion&c.--it hasa drearylook--nor is my Lord Steyne's palace lessdreary. All I have ever seen of it is the vast wall infrontwith the rustic columns at the great gatethroughwhich anold porter peers sometimes with a fat andgloomy redface--and over the wall the garret andbedroomwindowsand the chimneysout of which thereseldomcomes any smoke now.  For the present LordSteynelives at Naplespreferring the view of the Bayand Capriand Vesuvius to the dreary aspect of the wallin GauntSquare.

A fewscore yards down New Gaunt Streetand leadinginto GauntMews indeedis a little modest backdoorwhich you would not remark from that of any ofthe otherstables.  But many a little close carriage hasstopped atthat dooras my informant (little Tom Eaveswho knowseverythingand who showed me the place)told me. "The Prince and Perdita have been in and outof thatdoorsir" he had often told me; "MarianneClarke hasentered it with the Duke of --.  It conductsto thefamous petits appartements of Lord Steyne--onesirfitted up all in ivory and white satinanother inebony andblack velvet; there is a little banqueting-roomtaken fromSallust's house at Pompeiiand painted byCosway--alittle private kitchenin which every saucepanwas silverand all the spits were gold.  It was therethatEgalite Orleans roasted partridges on the nightwhen heand the Marquis of Steyne won a hundredthousandfrom a great personage at ombre.  Half of themoney wentto the French Revolutionhalf to purchaseLordGaunt's Marquisate and Garter--and theremainder--"but it forms no part of our scheme to tellwhatbecame of the remainderfor every shilling ofwhichanda great deal morelittle Tom Eaveswhoknowseverybody's affairsis ready to account.

Besideshis town palacethe Marquis had castles andpalaces invarious quarters of the three kingdomswhereofthe descriptions may be found in the road-books--CastleStrongbowwith its woodson the Shannonshore;Gaunt Castlein Carmarthenshirewhere RichardII wastaken prisoner--Gauntly Hall in YorkshirewhereI havebeen informed there were two hundred silverteapotsfor the breakfasts of the guests of the housewitheverythingto correspond in splendour; and Stillbrook inHampshirewhich was my lord's farman humble placeofresidenceof which we all remember the wonderfulfurniturewhich was sold at my lord's demise by a latecelebratedauctioneer.

TheMarchioness of Steyne was of the renowned andancientfamily of the CaerlyonsMarquises of Camelotwho havepreserved the old faith ever since theconversionof the venerable Druidtheir first ancestorandwhosepedigree goes far beyond the date of the arrival ofKing Brutein these islands.  Pendragon is the title of theeldest sonof the house.  The sons have been calledArthursUthersand Caradocsfrom immemorial time.Theirheads have fallen in many a loyal conspiracy.Elizabethchopped off the head of the Arthur of her daywho hadbeen Chamberlain to Philip and Maryandcarriedletters between the Queen of Scots and her unclestheGuises.  A cadet of the house was an officer of thegreat Dukeand distinguished in the famous SaintBartholomewconspiracy.  During the whole of Mary'sconfinementthe house of Camelot conspired in her behalf.It was asmuch injured by its charges in fitting out anarmamentagainst the Spaniardsduring the time of theArmadaasby the fines and confiscations levied on itbyElizabeth for harbouring of priestsobstinaterecusancyand popish misdoings.  A recreant of James's timewasmomentarily perverted from his religion by theargumentsof that great theologianand the fortunes of thefamilysomewhat restored by his timely weakness.  Butthe Earlof Camelotof the reign of Charlesreturned tothe oldcreed of his familyand they continued to fightfor itand ruin themselves for itas long as there was aStuartleft to head or to instigate a rebellion.

Lady MaryCaerlyon was brought up at a Parisianconvent;the Dauphiness Marie Antoinette was hergodmother. In the pride of her beauty she had beenmarried--soldit was said--to Lord Gauntthen at Pariswho wonvast sums from the lady's brother at some ofPhilip ofOrleans's banquets.  The Earl of Gaunt's famousduel withthe Count de la Marcheof the GreyMusqueteerswas attributed by common report to thepretensionsof that officer (who had been a pageandremained afavourite of the Queen) to the hand of thebeautifulLady Mary Caerlyon.  She was married to LordGauntwhile the Count lay ill of his woundand came todwell atGaunt Houseand to figure for a short time inthesplendid Court of the Prince of Wales.  Fox hadtoastedher.  Morris and Sheridan had written songs abouther. Malmesbury had made her his best bow; Walpolehadpronounced her charming; Devonshire had beenalmostjealous of her; but she was scared by the wildpleasuresand gaieties of the society into which she wasflungandafter she had borne a couple of sonsshrankaway intoa life of devout seclusion.  No wonder thatmy LordSteynewho liked pleasure and cheerfulnesswas notoften seen after their marriage by the side ofthistremblingsilentsuperstitiousunhappy lady.

Thebefore-mentioned Tom Eaves (who has no partin thishistoryexcept that he knew all the great folks inLondonand the stories and mysteries of each family)hadfurther information regarding my Lady Steynewhich mayor may not be true.  "The humiliations" Tomused tosay"which that woman has been made toundergoin her own househave been frightful; LordSteyne hasmade her sit down to table with women withwhom Iwould rather die than allow Mrs. Eaves toassociate--withLady Crackenburywith Mrs. ChippenhamwithMadame de la Cruchecasseethe French secretary'swife (fromevery one of which ladies Tom Eaves--who wouldhave sacrificed his wife for knowing them--was tooglad to get a bow or a dinner) with the REIGNINGFAVOURITEin a word.  And do you suppose that thatwomanofthat familywho are as proud as the Bourbonsand towhom the Steynes are but lackeysmushrooms ofyesterday(for after allthey are not of the Old Gauntsbut of aminor and doubtful branch of the house); doyousupposeI say (the reader must bear in mind thatit isalways Tom Eaves who speaks) that the Marchionessof Steynethe haughtiest woman in Englandwouldbend downto her husband so submissively if there werenot somecause? Pooh!  I tell you there are secret reasons.I tell youthatin the emigrationthe Abbe de laMarche whowas here and was employed in theQuiberoonbusiness with Puisaye and Tinteniacwas thesameColonel of Mousquetaires Gris with whom Steynefought inthe year '86--that he and the Marchioness metagain--thatit was after the Reverend Colonel was shotinBrittany that Lady Steyne took to those extremepracticesof devotion which she carries on now; for she isclosetedwith her director every day--she is at serviceat SpanishPlaceevery morningI've watched her there--that isI've happened to be passing there--anddepend onitthere's a mystery in her case.  People are notso unhappyunless they have something to repent of"added TomEaves with a knowing wag of his head; "anddepend onitthat woman would not be so submissiveas she isif the Marquis had not some sword to holdover her."

Soif Mr.Eaves's information be correctit is verylikelythat this ladyin her high stationhad to submitto many aprivate indignity and to hide many secretgriefsunder a calm face.  And let usmy brethren whohave notour names in the Red Bookconsole ourselvesbythinking comfortably how miserable our betters maybeandthat Damocleswho sits on satin cushions andis servedon gold platehas an awful sword hangingover hishead in the shape of a bailiffor an hereditarydiseaseor a family secretwhich peeps out every nowand thenfrom the embroidered arras in a ghastlymannerand will be sure to drop one day or the other in therightplace.

Incomparingtoothe poor man's situation with thatof thegreatthere is (always according to Mr. Eaves)anothersource of comfort for the former.  You who havelittle orno patrimony to bequeath or to inheritmay beon goodterms with your father or your sonwhereas theheir of agreat princesuch as my Lord Steynemustnaturallybe angry at being kept out of his kingdomandeye theoccupant of it with no very agreeable glances."Takeit as a rule" this sardonic old Laves would say"thefathers and elder sons of all great families hate eachother. The Crown Prince is always in opposition to thecrown orhankering after it.  Shakespeare knew the worldmy goodsirand when he describes Prince Hal (fromwhosefamily the Gaunts pretend to be descendedthoughthey areno more related to John of Gaunt than you are)trying onhis father's coronethe gives you a naturaldescriptionof all heirs apparent.  If you were heir to adukedomand a thousand pounds a daydo you mean tosay youwould not wish for possession? Pooh!  And itstands toreason that every great manhaving experiencedthisfeeling towards his fathermust be aware that hissonentertains it towards himself; and so they can't butbesuspicious and hostile.

"Thenagainas to the feeling of elder towards youngersons. My dear siryou ought to know that every elderbrotherlooks upon the cadets of the house as his naturalenemieswho deprive him of so much ready money whichought tobe his by right.  I have often heard George MacTurkLordBajazet's eldest sonsay that if he had hiswill whenhe came to the titlehe would do what thesultansdoand clear the estate by chopping off all hisyoungerbrothers' heads at once; and so the case ismore orlesswith them all.  I tell you they are all Turksin theirhearts.  Pooh! sirthey know the world." Andherehaplya great man coming upTom Eaves's hatwould dropoff his headand he would rush forward witha bow anda grinwhich showed that he knew the worldtoo--inthe Tomeavesian waythat is.  And having laidout everyshilling of his fortune on an annuityTomcouldafford to bear no malice to his nephews and niecesand tohave no other feeling with regard to his bettersbut aconstant and generous desire to dine with them.

Betweenthe Marchioness and the natural and tenderregard ofmother for childrenthere was that cruelbarrierplaced of difference of faith.  The very love which shemight feelfor her sons only served to render the timidand piouslady more fearful and unhappy.  The gulf whichseparatedthem was fatal and impassable.  She could notstretchher weak arms across itor draw her childrenover tothat side away from which her belief told herthere wasno safety.  During the youth of his sonsLordSteynewho was a good scholar and amateur casuisthad nobetter sport in the evening after dinner in thecountrythan in setting the boys' tutorthe ReverendMr. Trail(now my Lord Bishop of Ealing) on herladyship'sdirectorFather Moleover their wineand inpittingOxford against St.  Acheul.  He cried "BravoLatimer! Well saidLoyola!" alternately; he promisedMole abishopric if he would come overand vowed hewould useall his influence to get Trail a cardinal's hatif hewould secede.  Neither divine allowed himself to beconqueredand though the fond mother hoped that heryoungestand favourite son would be reconciled to herchurch--hismother church--a sad and awful disappointmentawaitedthe devout lady--a disappointment whichseemed tobe a judgement upon her for the sin of hermarriage.

My LordGaunt marriedas every person who frequentsthePeerage knowsthe Lady Blanche Thistlewooda daughterof the noble house of Bareacresbeforementionedin this veracious history.  A wing ofGauntHouse was assigned to this couple; for the headof thefamily chose to govern itand while he reigned toreignsupreme; his son and heirhoweverliving little athomedisagreeing with his wifeand borrowing uponpost-obitssuch moneys as he required beyond the verymoderatesums which his father was disposed to allowhim. The Marquis knew every shilling of his son's debts.At hislamented demisehe was found himself to bepossessorof many of his heir's bondspurchased for theirbenefitand devised by his Lordship to the children ofhisyounger son.

Asto myLord Gaunt's dismayand the chucklingdelight ofhis natural enemy and fatherthe Lady Gaunthad nochildren--the Lord George Gaunt was desired toreturnfrom Viennawhere he was engaged in waltzinganddiplomacyand to contract a matrimonial alliancewith theHonourable Joanonly daughter of John JohnesFirstBaron Helvellynand head of the firm of JonesBrownandRobinsonof Threadneedle StreetBankers;from whichunion sprang several sons and daughterswhosedoings do not appertain to this story.

Themarriage at first was a happy and prosperous one.My LordGeorge Gaunt could not only readbut writeprettycorrectly.  He spoke French with considerablefluency;and was one of the finest waltzers in Europe.  Withthesetalentsand his interest at homethere was littledoubt thathis lordship would rise to the highest dignitiesin hisprofession.  The ladyhis wifefelt that courts werehersphereand her wealth enabled her to receivesplendidlyin those continental towns whither her husband'sdiplomaticduties led him.  There was talk of appointinghimministerand bets were laid at the Travellers' thathe wouldbe ambassador ere longwhen of a suddenrumoursarrived of the secretary's extraordinary behaviour.At a granddiplomatic dinner given by his chiefhehadstarted up and declared that a pate de foie gras waspoisoned. He went to a ball at the hotel of the BavarianenvoytheCount de Springbock-Hohenlaufenwith hisheadshaved and dressed as a Capuchin friar.  It was nota maskedballas some folks wanted to persuade you.  Itwassomething queerpeople whispered.  His grandfatherwas so. It was in the family.

His wifeand family returned to this country and tookup theirabode at Gaunt House.  Lord George gave uphis poston the European continentand was gazetted toBrazil. But people knew better; he never returned fromthatBrazil expedition--never died there--never livedthere--neverwas there at all.  He was nowhere; he wasgone outaltogether.  "Brazil" said one gossip to anotherwith agrin--"Brazil is St.  John's Wood.  Rio de Janeirois acottage surrounded by four wallsand George Gauntisaccredited to a keeperwho has invested him with theorder ofthe Strait-Waistcoat." These are the kinds ofepitaphswhich men pass over one another in VanityFair.

Twice orthrice in a weekin the earliest morningthepoormother went for her sins and saw the poor invalid.Sometimeshe laughed at her (and his laughter was morepitifulthan to hear him cry); sometimes she found thebrilliantdandy diplomatist of the Congress of Viennadraggingabout a child's toyor nursing the keeper'sbaby'sdoll.  Sometimes he knew her and Father Moleherdirector and companion; oftener he forgot heras hehad donewifechildrenloveambitionvanity.  But herememberedhis dinner-hourand used to cry if hiswine-and-waterwas not strong enough.

It was themysterious taint of the blood; the poormother hadbrought it from her own ancient race.  Theevil hadbroken out once or twice in the father's familylongbefore Lady Steyne's sins had begunor her fastsand tearsand penances had been offered in theirexpiation. The pride of the race was struck down as thefirst-bornof Pharaoh.  The dark mark of fate and doom wason thethreshold--the tall old threshold surmounted bycoronetsand caned heraldry.

The absentlord's children meanwhile prattled andgrew onquite unconscious that the doom was over themtoo. First they talked of their father and devised plansagainsthis return.  Then the name of the living dead manwas lessfrequently in their mouth--then not mentionedat all. But the stricken old grandmother trembled to thinkthat thesetoo were the inheritors of their father's shameas well asof his honoursand watched sickening for theday whenthe awful ancestral curse should come downon them.

This darkpresentiment also haunted Lord Steyne.  Hetried tolay the horrid bedside ghost in Red Seas of wineandjollityand lost sight of it sometimes in the crowdand routof his pleasures.  But it always came back tohim whenaloneand seemed to grow more threateningwithyears.  "I have taken your son" it said"whynotyou? I mayshut you up in a prison some day like yoursonGeorge.  I may tap you on the head to-morrowandaway gopleasure and honoursfeasts and beautyfriendsflatterersFrench cooksfine horses and houses--inexchangefor a prisona keeperand a straw mattress likeGeorgeGaunt's." And then my lord would defy the ghostwhichthreatened himfor he knew of a remedy by whichhe couldbaulk his enemy.

So therewas splendour and wealthbut no greathappinessperchancebehind the tall caned portals of GauntHouse withits smoky coronets and ciphers.  The feaststhere wereof the grandest in Londonbut there was notovermuchcontent therewithexcept among the guestswho sat atmy lord's table.  Had he not been so great aPrincevery few possibly would have visited him; but inVanityFair the sins of very great personages are lookedatindulgently.  "Nous regardons a deux fois" (as theFrenchlady said) before we condemn a person of mylord'sundoubted quality.  Some notorious carpers andsqueamishmoralists might be sulky with Lord Steynebut theywere glad enough to come when he asked them.

"LordSteyne is really too bad" Lady Slingstone said"buteverybody goesand of course I shall see that mygirls cometo no harm." "His lordship is a man to whomI owemucheverything in life" said the Right ReverendDoctorTrailthinking that the Archbishop was rathershakyandMrs. Trail and the young ladies would assoon havemissed going to church as to one of hislordship'sparties.  "His morals are bad" said little LordSouthdownto his sisterwho meekly expostulatedhavingheard terrific legends from her mamma with respectto thedoings at Gaunt House; "but hang ithe's got thebest drySillery in Europe!" And as for Sir Pitt CrawleyBart.--SirPitt that pattern of decorumSir Pitt whohad ledoff at missionary meetings--he never for onemomentthought of not going too.  "Where you see suchpersons asthe Bishop of Ealing and the Countess ofSlingstoneyou may be pretty sureJane" the Baronetwould say"that we cannot be wrong.  The great rankandstation of Lord Steyne put him in a position tocommandpeople in our station in life.  The Lord Lieutenantof aCountymy dearis a respectable man.  BesidesGeorgeGaunt and I were intimate in early life; he wasmy juniorwhen we were attaches at Pumpernickeltogether."

In a wordeverybody went to wait upon this great man--everybodywho was askedas you the reader (do notsay nay)or I the writer hereof would go if we had aninvitation.

CHAPTERXLVIIIInWhich the Reader Is Introduced to the VeryBest ofCompany

At lastBecky's kindness and attention to the chief ofherhusband's family were destined to meet with anexceedinggreat rewarda reward whichthough certainlysomewhatunsubstantialthe little woman coveted withgreatereagerness than more positive benefits.  If she didnot wishto lead a virtuous lifeat least she desired toenjoy acharacter for virtueand we know that no ladyin thegenteel world can possess this desideratumuntilshe hasput on a train and feathers and has beenpresentedto her Sovereign at Court.  From that augustinterviewthey come out stamped as honest women.  TheLordChamberlain gives them a certificate of virtue.  Andas dubiousgoods or letters are passed through an ovenatquarantinesprinkled with aromatic vinegarand thenpronouncedcleanmany a ladywhose reputation wouldbedoubtful otherwise and liable to give infectionpassesthroughthe wholesome ordeal of the Royal presence andissuesfrom it free from all taint.

It mightbe very well for my Lady BareacresmyLadyTuftoMrs. Bute Crawley in the countryand otherladies whohad come into contact with Mrs. RawdonCrawley tocry fie at the idea of the odious littleadventuressmaking her curtsey before the Sovereignandto declarethatif dear good Queen Charlotte had beenaliveshenever would have admitted such an extremelyill-regulatedpersonage into her chaste drawing-room.  Butwhen weconsider that it was the First Gentleman inEurope inwhose high presence Mrs. Rawdon passed herexaminationand as it weretook her degree in reputationit surelymust be flat disloyalty to doubt any moreabout hervirtue.  Ifor my partlook back with love andawe tothat Great Character in history.  Ahwhat a highand nobleappreciation of Gentlewomanhood there musthave beenin Vanity Fairwhen that revered and augustbeing wasinvestedby the universal acclaim of therefinedand educated portion of this empirewith the titleof PremierGentilhomme of his Kingdom.  Do yourememberdear M--oh friend of my youthhow oneblissfulnight five-and-twenty years sincethe "Hypocrite"beingactedElliston being managerDowton and Listonperformerstwo boys had leave from their loyal mastersto go outfrom Slaughter-House School where they wereeducatedand to appear on Drury Lane stageamongst acrowdwhich assembled there to greet the king.  THEKING?There he was.  Beefeaters were before theaugustbox; the Marquis of Steyne (Lord of the PowderCloset)and other great officers of state were behind thechair onwhich he satHE sat--florid of faceportly ofpersoncovered with ordersand in a rich curling head ofhair--howwe sang God save him!  How the house rockedandshouted with that magnificent music.  How theycheeredand criedand waved handkerchiefs.  Ladieswept;mothers clasped their children; some fainted withemotion. People were suffocated in the pitshrieks andgroansrising up amidst the writhing and shouting massthere ofhis people who wereand indeed showed them-selvesalmost to beready to die for him.  Yeswe sawhim. Fate cannot deprive us of THAT.  Others have seenNapoleon. Some few still exist who have beheld Frederickthe GreatDoctor JohnsonMarie Antoinette&c.--be itourreasonable boast to our childrenthat we saw Georgethe Goodthe Magnificentthe Great.

Wellthere came a happy day in Mrs. Rawdon Crawley'sexistencewhen this angel was admitted into theparadiseof a Court which she covetedher sister-in-lawacting asher godmother.  On the appointed daySir Pittand hisladyin their great family carriage (just newlybuiltandready for the Baronet's assumption of theoffice ofHigh Sheriff of his county)drove up to the littlehouse inCurzon Streetto the edification of Raggleswhowaswatching from his greengrocer's shopand saw fineplumeswithinand enormous bunches of flowers in thebreasts ofthe new livery-coats of the footmen.

Sir Pittin a glittering uniformdescended and wentintoCurzon Streethis sword between his legs.  LittleRawdonstood with his face against the parlour window-panessmiling and nodding with all his might to his auntin thecarriage within; and presently Sir Pitt issued forthfrom thehouse againleading forth a lady with grandfeatherscovered in a white shawland holding updaintily atrain of magnificent brocade.  She stepped into thevehicle asif she were a princess and accustomed all herlife to goto Courtsmiling graciously on the footman atthe doorand on Sir Pittwho followed her into thecarriage.

ThenRawdon followed in his old Guards' uniformwhich hadgrown woefully shabbyand was much tootight. He was to have followed the procession and waitedupon hissovereign in a cabbut that his good-naturedsister-in-lawinsisted that they should be a family party.The coachwas largethe ladies not very bigthey wouldhold theirtrains in their laps--finallythe four wentfraternallytogetherand their carriage presently joinedthe lineof royal equipages which was making its waydownPiccadilly and St.  James's Streettowards the oldbrickpalace where the Star of Brunswick was in waitingto receivehis nobles and gentlefolks.

Becky feltas if she could bless the people out of thecarriagewindowsso elated was she in spiritand sostrong asense had she of the dignified position whichshe had atlast attained in life.  Even our Becky had herweaknessesand as one often sees how men pridethemselvesupon excellences which others are slow toperceive: howfor instanceComus firmly believes that heis thegreatest tragic actor in England; how Brownthefamousnovelistlongs to be considerednot a man ofgeniusbut a man of fashion; while Robinsonthe greatlawyerdoes not in the least care about his reputation inWestminsterHallbut believes himself incomparableacrosscountry and at a five-barred gate--so to beandto bethoughta respectable woman was Becky's aim inlifeandshe got up the genteel with amazing assiduityreadinessand success.  We have saidthere were timeswhen shebelieved herself to be a fine lady and forgotthat therewas no money in the chest at home--dunsround thegatetradesmen to coax and wheedle--noground towalk uponin a word.  And as she went toCourt inthe carriagethe family carriageshe adopted ademeanourso grandself-satisfieddeliberateandimposingthat it made even Lady Jane laugh.  She walkedinto theroyal apartments with a toss of the head whichwould havebefitted an empressand I have no doubt hadshe beenoneshe would have become the characterperfectly.

We areauthorized to state that Mrs. Rawdon Crawley'scostume decour on the occasion of her presentationto theSovereign was of the most elegant and brilliantdescription. Some ladies we may have seen--wewho wearstars and cordons and attend the St.  James'sassembliesor wewhoin muddy bootsdawdle up anddown PallMall and peep into the coaches as they driveup withthe great folks in their feathers--some ladies offashionIsaywe may have seenabout two o'clock oftheforenoon of a levee dayas the laced-jacketed bandof theLife Guards are blowing triumphal marches seatedon thoseprancing music-stoolstheir cream-colouredchargers--whoare by no means lovely and enticingobjects atthat early period of noon.  A stout countess ofsixtydecolleteepaintedwrinkled with rouge up to herdroopingeyelidsand diamonds twinkling in her wigis awholesomeand edifyingbut not a pleasant sight.  Shehas thefaded look of a St.  James's Street illuminationasit may beseen of an early morningwhen half the lampsare outand the others are blinking wanlyas if theywere aboutto vanish like ghosts before the dawn.  Suchcharms asthose of which we catch glimpses while herladyship'scarriage passes should appear abroad at nightalone. If even Cynthia looks haggard of an afternoonaswe may seeher sometimes in the present winter seasonwithPhoebus staring her out of countenance from theoppositeside of the heavenshow much more can oldLadyCastlemouldy keep her head up when the sun isshiningfull upon it through the chariot windowsandshowingall the chinks and crannies with which time hasmarked herface!  No.  Drawing-rooms should beannouncedfor Novemberor the first foggy dayor theelderlysultanas of our Vanity Fair should drive up inclosedlittersdescend in a covered wayand make theircurtsey tothe Sovereign under the protection of lamplight.

Ourbeloved Rebecca had no needhoweverof anysuch afriendly halo to set off her beauty.  Her complexioncould bearany sunshine as yetand her dressthough ifyou wereto see it nowany present lady of Vanity Fairwouldpronounce it to be the most foolish and preposterousattireever wornwas as handsome in her eyesand thoseof the publicsome five-and-twenty years sinceas themost brilliant costume of the most famous beautyof thepresent season.  A score of years hence that toothatmilliner's wonderwill have passed into the domainof theabsurdalong with all previous vanities.  But wearewandering too much.  Mrs. Rawdon's dress waspronouncedto be charmante on the eventful day of herpresentation. Even good little Lady Jane was forced toacknowledgethis effectas she looked at her kinswomanand ownedsorrowfully to herself that she was quiteinferiorin taste to Mrs. Becky.

She didnot know how much carethoughtand geniusMrs.Rawdon had bestowed upon that garment.  Rebeccahad asgood taste as any milliner in Europeand such aclever wayof doing things as Lady Jane little understood.The latterquickly spied out the magnificence of thebrocade ofBecky's trainand the splendour of the lace onher dress.

Thebrocade was an old remnantBecky said; and asfor thelaceit was a great bargain.  She had had it thesehundredyears.

"Mydear Mrs. Crawleyit must have cost a littlefortune"Lady Jane saidlooking down at her own lacewhich wasnot nearly so good; and then examining thequality ofthe ancient brocade which formed thematerialof Mrs. Rawdon's Court dressshe felt inclined tosay thatshe could not afford such fine clothingbutcheckedthat speechwith an effortas one uncharitableto herkinswoman.

And yetif Lady Jane had known allI think even herkindlytemper would have failed her.  The fact iswhenshe wasputting Sir Pitt's house in orderMrs. Rawdonhad foundthe lace and the brocade in old wardrobestheproperty of the former ladies of the houseand hadquietlycarried the goods homeand had suited them toher ownlittle person.  Briggs saw her take themaskednoquestionstold no stories; but I believe quitesympathisedwith her on this matterand so wouldmanyanother honest woman. And thediamonds--"Where the doose did you get thediamondsBecky?" said her husbandadmiring somejewelswhich he had never seen before and which sparkledin herears and on her neck with brilliance and profusion. Beckyblushed a little and looked at him hard for amoment. Pitt Crawley blushed a little tooand lookedout ofwindow.  The fact ishe had given her a verysmallportion of the brilliants; a pretty diamond claspwhichconfined a pearl necklace which she wore- and theBaronethad omitted to mention the circumstance tohis lady.

Beckylooked at her husbandand then at Sir Pittwith anair of saucy triumph--as much as to say"ShallI betrayyou?"

"Guess!"she said to her husband.  "Whyyou sillyman"she continued"where do you suppose I got them?--allexcept the little claspwhich a dear friend of minegave melong ago.  I hired themto be sure.  I hired themat Mr.Polonius'sin Coventry Street.  You don't supposethat allthe diamonds which go to Court belong to thewearers;like those beautiful stones which Lady Jane hasand whichare much handsomer than any which I haveI amcertain."

"Theyare family jewels" said Sir Pittagain lookinguneasy. And in this family conversation the carriagerolleddown the streetuntil its cargo was finallydischargedat the gates of the palace where the Sovereignwassitting in state.

Thediamondswhich had created Rawdon's admirationnever wentback to Mr. Poloniusof Coventry Streetandthatgentleman never applied for their restorationbuttheyretired into a little private repositoryin an old deskwhichAmelia Sedley had given her years and years agoand inwhich Becky kept a number of useful andperhapsvaluable thingsabout which her husbandknewnothing.  To know nothingor littleis in thenature ofsome husbands.  To hidein the nature of howmanywomen? Ohladies! how many of you havesurreptitiousmilliners' bills? How many of you have gownsandbracelets which you daren't showor which you weartrembling?--tremblingand coaxing with smiles thehusband byyour sidewho does not know the new velvetgown fromthe old oneor the new bracelet from lastyear'sorhas any notion that the ragged-looking yellowlace scarfcost forty guineas and that Madame Bobinot iswritingdunning letters every week for the money!

ThusRawdon knew nothing about the brilliant diamondear-ringsor the superb brilliant ornament whichdecoratedthe fair bosom of his lady; but Lord Steynewho was inhis place at Courtas Lord of the PowderClosetand one of the great dignitaries and illustriousdefencesof the throne of Englandand came up with allhis starsgarterscollarsand cordonsand paid particularattentionto the little womanknew whence the jewelscame andwho paid for them.

As hebowed over her he smiledand quoted thehackneyedand beautiful lines from The Rape of the LockaboutBelinda's diamonds"which Jews might kiss andinfidelsadore."

"ButI hope your lordship is orthodox" said the littlelady witha toss of her head.  And many ladies roundaboutwhispered and talkedand many gentlemen noddedandwhisperedas they saw what marked attention thegreatnobleman was paying to the little adventuress.

What werethe circumstances of the interview betweenRebeccaCrawleynee Sharpand her Imperial Masterit doesnot become such a feeble and inexperienced penas mine toattempt to relate.  The dazzled eyes closebeforethat Magnificent Idea.  Loyal respect and decency telleven theimagination not to look too keenly and audaciouslyabout thesacred audience-chamberbut to back awayrapidlysilentlyand respectfullymaking profoundbows outof the August Presence.

This maybe saidthat in all London there was nomore loyalheart than Becky's after this interview.  Thename ofher king was always on her lipsand he wasproclaimedby her to be the most charming of men.  Shewent toColnaghi's and ordered the finest portrait of himthat arthad producedand credit could supply.  She chosethatfamous one in which the best of monarchs isrepresentedin a frock-coat with a fur collarand breechesand silkstockingssimpering on a sofa from under hiscurlybrown wig.  She had him painted in a brooch andworeit--indeed she amused and somewhat pestered heracquaintancewith her perpetual talk about his urbanityandbeauty.  Who knows!  Perhaps the little womanthoughtshe might play the part of a Maintenon or aPompadour.

But thefinest sport of all after her presentation was tohear hertalk virtuously.  She had a few female acquaintancesnotitmust be ownedof the very highest reputationin VanityFair.  But being made an honest woman ofso tospeakBecky would not consort any longer withthesedubious onesand cut Lady Crackenbury when thelatternodded to her from her opera-boxand gave Mrs.WashingtonWhite the go-by in the Ring.  "One mustmydearshowone is somebody" she said.  "One mustn't beseen withdoubtful people.  I pity Lady Crackenbury frommy heartand Mrs. Washington White may be a verygood-naturedperson.  YOU may go and dine with themas youlike your rubber.  But I mustn'tand won't; andyou willhave the goodness to tell Smith to say I am notat homewhen either of them calls."

Theparticulars of Becky's costume were in the newspapers--featherslappetssuperb diamondsand all therest. Lady Crackenbury read the paragraph in bitternessof spiritand discoursed to her followers about the airswhich thatwoman was giving herself.  Mrs. Bute Crawleyand heryoung ladies in the country had a copy of theMorningPost from townand gave a vent to their honestindignation. "If you had been sandy-hairedgreen-eyedand aFrench rope-dancer's daughter" Mrs. Bute saidto hereldest girl (whoon the contrarywas a veryswarthyshortand snub-nosed young lady)"You mighthave hadsuperb diamonds forsoothand have beenpresentedat Court by your cousinthe Lady Jane.  But you'reonly agentlewomanmy poor dear child.  You have onlysome ofthe best blood in England in your veinsandgoodprinciples and piety for your portion.  Imyselfthe wifeof a Baronet's younger brothertooneverthought ofsuch a thing as going to Court--nor wouldotherpeopleif good Queen Charlotte had been alive."In thisway the worthy Rectoress consoled herselfandherdaughters sighed and sat over the Peerage all night.

A few daysafter the famous presentationanothergreat andexceeding honour was vouchsafed to thevirtuousBecky.  Lady Steyne's carriage drove up to Mr.RawdonCrawley's doorand the footmaninstead of drivingdown thefront of the houseas by his tremendousknockinghe appeared to be inclined to dorelented and onlydeliveredin a couple of cardson which were engraventhe namesof the Marchioness of Steyne and theCountessof Gaunt.  If these bits of pasteboard had beenbeautifulpicturesor had had a hundred yards of Malines lacerolledround themworth twice the number of guineasBeckycould not have regarded them with more pleasure.You may besure they occupied a conspicuous place inthe chinabowl on the drawing-room tablewhere Beckykept thecards of her visitors.  Lord! lord! how poorMrs.Washington White's card and Lady Crackenbury'scard--whichour little friend had been glad enough toget a fewmonths backand of which the silly littlecreaturewas rather proud once--Lord! lord! I sayhow soonat theappearance of these grand court cardsdid thosepoorlittle neglected deuces sink down to the bottom ofthe pack. Steyne!  BareacresJohnes of Helvellyn!  andCaerylonof Camelot! we may be sure that Becky andBriggslooked out those august names in the Peerageandfollowed the noble races up through all theramificationsof the family tree.

My LordSteyne coming to call a couple of hoursafterwardsand looking about himand observingeverythingas was his wontfound his ladies' cards alreadyranged asthe trumps of Becky's handand grinnedasthis oldcynic always did at any naive display of humanweakness. Becky came down to him presently; wheneverthe deargirl expected his lordshipher toilette waspreparedher hair in perfect orderher mouchoirsapronsscarfslittle morocco slippersand other femalegimcracksarrangedand she seated in some artless andagreeableposture ready to receive him--whenever shewassurprisedof courseshe had to fly to her apartmentto take arapid survey of matters in the glassandto tripdown again to wait upon the great peer.

She foundhim grinning over the bowl.  She wasdiscoveredand she blushed a little.  "Thank youMonseigneur"she said.  "You see your ladies havebeenhere.  How good of you!  I couldn't come before--I was inthe kitchen making a pudding."

"Iknow you wereI saw you through the area-railingsas I droveup" replied the old gentleman.

"Yousee everything" she replied.

"Afew thingsbut not thatmy pretty lady" he saidgood-naturedly. "You silly little fibster!  I heard you inthe roomoverheadwhere I have no doubt you wereputting alittle rouge on--you must give some of yours tomy LadyGauntwhose complexion is quite preposterous--and Iheard the bedroom door openand then youcamedownstairs."

"Isit a crime to try and look my best when YOU comehere?"answered Mrs. Rawdon plaintivelyand she rubbedher cheekwith her handkerchief as if to show there wasno rougeat allonly genuine blushes and modesty in hercase. About this who can tell? I know there is somerouge thatwon't come off on a pocket-handkerchiefand someso good that even tears will not disturb it.

"Well"said the old gentlemantwiddling round hiswife'scard"you are bent on becoming a fine lady.You pestermy poor old life out to get you into theworld. You won't be able to hold your own thereyousillylittle fool.  You've got no money."

"Youwill get us a place" interposed Becky"as quickaspossible."

"You'vegot no moneyand you want to compete withthose whohave.  You poor little earthenware pipkinyouwant toswim down the stream along with the great cop-perkettles.  All women are alike.  Everybody is strivingfor whatis not worth the having!  Gad!  I dined with theKingyesterdayand we had neck of mutton and turnips.A dinnerof herbs is better than a stalled ox very often.You willgo to Gaunt House.  You give an old fellow norest untilyou get there.  It's not half so nice as here.You'll bebored there.  I am.  My wife is as gay as LadyMacbethand my daughters as cheerful as Regan andGoneril. I daren't sleep in what they call my bedroom.The bed islike the baldaquin of St.  Peter'sand thepicturesfrighten me.  I have a little brass bed in adressing-roomand a little hair mattress like an anchorite.I am ananchorite.  Ho!  ho!  You'll be asked to dinner nextweek. And gare aux femmeslook out and hold yourown! How the women will bully you!" This was a verylongspeech for a man of few words like my Lord Steyne;nor was itthe first which he uttered for Becky's benefiton thatday.

Briggslooked up from the work-table at which shewas seatedin the farther room and gave a deep sighas sheheard the great Marquis speak so lightly of her sex.

"Ifyou don't turn off that abominable sheep-dog" saidLordSteynewith a savage look over his shoulder ather"Iwill have her poisoned."

"Ialways give my dog dinner from my own plate"saidRebeccalaughing mischievously; and havingenjoyedfor some time the discomfiture of my lordwhohated poorBriggs for interrupting his tete-a-tetewith thefair Colonel's wifeMrs. Rawdon at length hadpity uponher admirerand calling to Briggspraised thefinenessof the weather to her and bade her to take outthe childfor a walk.

"Ican't send her away" Becky said presentlyaftera pauseand in a very sad voice.  Her eyes filled withtears asshe spokeand she turned away her head.

"Youowe her her wagesI suppose?" said the Peer.

"Worsethan that" said Beckystill casting down hereyes; "Ihave ruined her."

"Ruinedher? Then why don't you turn her out?" thegentlemanasked.

"Mendo that" Becky answered bitterly.  "Women arenot so badas you.  Last yearwhen we were reducedto ourlast guineashe gave us everything.  She shallneverleave meuntil we are ruined utterly ourselveswhich doesnot seem far offor until I can pay her theutmostfarthing."

--ithowmuch is it?" said the Peer with an oath.And Beckyreflecting on the largeness of his meansmentionednot only the sum which she had borrowed fromMissBriggsbut one of nearly double the amount.

Thiscaused the Lord Steyne to break out in anotherbrief andenergetic expression of angerat which Rebeccaheld downher head the more and cried bitterly.  "I couldnot helpit.  It was my only chance.  I dare not tell myhusband. He would kill me if I told him what I havedone. I have kept it a secret from everybody but you--and youforced it from me.  Ahwhat shall I doLordSteyne?for I am veryvery unhappy!"

LordSteyne made no reply except by beating thedevil'stattoo and biting his nails.  At last he clappedhis hat onhis head and flung out of the room.  Rebeccadid notrise from her attitude of misery until the doorslammedupon him and his carriage whirled away.  Thenshe roseup with the queerest expression of victoriousmischiefglittering in her green eyes.  She burst out laughingonce ortwice to herselfas she sat at workandsittingdown to the pianoshe rattled away a triumphantvoluntaryon the keyswhich made the people pauseunder herwindow to listen to her brilliant music.

Thatnightthere came two notes from Gaunt Housefor thelittle womanthe one containing a card ofinvitationfrom Lord and Lady Steyne to a dinner at GauntHouse nextFridaywhile the other enclosed a slip ofgray paperbearing Lord Steyne's signature and theaddress ofMessrs.  JonesBrownand RobinsonLombardStreet.

Rawdonheard Becky laughing in the night once ortwice. It was only her delight at going to Gaunt Houseand facingthe ladies thereshe saidwhich amused herso. But the truth was that she was occupied with a greatnumber ofother thoughts.  Should she pay off old Briggsand giveher her conge? Should she astonish Ragglesbysettling his account? She turned over all these thoughtson herpillowand on the next daywhen Rawdon wentout to payhis morning visit to the ClubMrs. Crawley(in amodest dress with a veil on) whipped off in ahackney-coachto the City:  and being landed at Messrs.Jones andRobinson's bankpresented a document thereto theauthority at the deskwhoin replyasked her"Howshe would take it?"

She gentlysaid "she would take a hundred and fiftypounds insmall notes and the remainder in one note":andpassing through St.  Paul's Churchyard stopped thereand boughtthe handsomest black silk gown for Briggswhichmoney could buy; and whichwith a kiss and thekindestspeechesshe presented to the simple oldspinster.

Then shewalked to Mr. Ragglesinquired about hischildrenaffectionatelyand gave him fifty pounds onaccount. Then she went to the livery-man from whomshe jobbedher carriages and gratified him with a similarsum. "And I hope this will be a lesson to youSpavin"she said"and that on the next drawing-room day mybrotherSir Pittwill not be inconvenienced by beingobliged totake four of us in his carriage to wait uponHisMajestybecause my own carriage is not forthcoming."It appearsthere had been a difference on the lastdrawing-roomday.  Hence the degradation which theColonelhad almost sufferedof being obliged to enterthepresence of his Sovereign in a hack cab.

Thesearrangements concludedBecky paid a visitupstairsto the before-mentioned deskwhich AmeliaSedley hadgiven her years and years agoand whichcontaineda number of useful and valuable little things--inwhichprivate museum she placed the one note whichMessrs. Jones and Robinson's cashier had given her.

CHAPTERXLIXInWhich We Enjoy Three Courses and a Dessert

When theladies of Gaunt House were at breakfast thatmorningLord Steyne (who took his chocolate in privateand seldomdisturbed the females of his householdor sawthem except upon public daysor when theycrossedeach other in the hallor when from hispit-box atthe opera he surveyed them in their box on thegrandtier) his lordshipwe sayappeared among theladies andthe children who were assembled over thetea andtoastand a battle royal ensued apropos ofRebecca.

"MyLady Steyne" he said"I want to see the listfor yourdinner on Friday; and I want youif you pleaseto write acard for Colonel and Mrs. Crawley."

"Blanchewrites them" Lady Steyne said in a flutter."LadyGaunt writes them."

"Iwill not write to that person" Lady Gaunt saida tall andstately ladywho looked up for an instantand thendown again after she had spoken.  It was notgood tomeet Lord Steyne's eyes for those who hadoffendedhim.

"Sendthe children out of the room.  Go!" said hepulling atthe bell-rope.  The urchinsalways frightenedbeforehimretired:  their mother would have followedtoo. "Not you" he said.  "You stop."

"MyLady Steyne" he said"once more will you havethegoodness to go to the desk and write that card foryourdinner on Friday?"

"MyLordI will not be present at it" Lady Gauntsaid; "Iwill go home."

"Iwish you wouldand stay there.  You will findthebailiffs at Bareacres very pleasant companyand Ishall befreed from lending money to your relations andfrom yourown damned tragedy airs.  Who are you togiveorders here? You have no money.  You've got nobrains. You were here to have childrenand you havenot hadany.  Gaunt's tired of youand George's wifeis theonly person in the family who doesn't wish youweredead.  Gaunt would marry again if you were."

"Iwish I were" her Ladyship answered with tearsand ragein her eyes.

"Youforsoothmust give yourself airs of virtuewhilemy wifewho is an immaculate saintas everybody knowsand neverdid wrong in her lifehas no objection to meetmy youngfriend Mrs. Crawley.  My Lady Steyne knowsthatappearances are sometimes against the best ofwomen;that lies are often told about the most innocentof them. Praymadamshall I tell you some littleanecdotesabout my Lady Bareacresyour mamma?"

"Youmay strike me if you likesiror hit any cruelblow"Lady Gaunt said.  To see his wife and daughtersufferingalways put his Lordship into a good humour.

"Mysweet Blanche" he said"I am a gentlemanandnever laymy hand upon a womansave in the way ofkindness. I only wish to correct little faults in yourcharacter. You women are too proudand sadly lackhumilityas Father MoleI'm surewould tell my LadySteyne ifhe were here.  You mustn't give yourselves airs;you mustbe meek and humblemy blessings.  For allLadySteyne knowsthis calumniatedsimplegood-humouredMrs. Crawley is quite innocent--even moreinnocentthan herself.  Her husband's character is notgoodbutit is as good as Bareacres'who has playeda littleand not paid a great dealwho cheated you outof theonly legacy you ever had and left you a pauperon myhands.  And Mrs. Crawley is not very well-bornbut she isnot worse than Fanny's illustrious ancestorthe firstde la Jones."

"Themoney which I brought into the familysir" LadyGeorgecried out--

"Youpurchased a contingent reversion with it" theMarquissaid darkly.  "If Gaunt diesyour husband maycome tohis honours; your little boys may inherit themand whoknows what besides? In the meanwhileladiesbe asproud and virtuous as you like abroadbut don'tgive MEany airs.  As for Mrs. Crawley's characterIshan'tdemean myself or that most spotless and perfectlyirreproachablelady by even hinting that it requires adefence. You will be pleased to receive her with theutmostcordialityas you will receive all persons whomI presentin this house.  This house?" He broke out witha laugh. "Who is the master of it? and what is it?ThisTemple of Virtue belongs to me.  And if I invite allNewgate orall Bedlam hereby -- they shall bewelcome."

After thisvigorous allocutionto one of which sortLordSteyne treated his "Hareem" whenever symptomsofinsubordination appeared in his householdthecrestfallenwomen had nothing for it but to obey.  Lady Gauntwrote theinvitation which his Lordship requiredandshe andher mother-in-law drove in personand withbitter andhumiliated heartsto leave the cards on Mrs.Rawdonthe reception of which caused that innocentwoman somuch pleasure.

There werefamilies in London who would havesacrificeda year's income to receive such an honour at thehands ofthose great ladies.  Mrs. Frederick Bullockforinstancewould have gone on her knees from May Fairto LombardStreetif Lady Steyne and Lady Gaunt hadbeenwaiting in the City to raise her up and say"Cometo us nextFriday"--not to one of the great crushes andgrandballs of Gaunt Housewhither everybody wentbutto thesacredunapproachablemysteriousdeliciousentertainmentsto be admitted to one of which was aprivilegeand an honourand a blessing indeed.

Severespotlessand beautifulLady Gaunt held theveryhighest rank in Vanity Fair.  The distinguishedcourtesywith which Lord Steyne treated her charmedeverybodywho witnessed his behaviourcaused the severestcritics toadmit how perfect a gentleman he wasand toown thathis Lordship's heart at least was in the rightplace.

The ladiesof Gaunt House called Lady Bareacres in totheir aidin order to repulse the common enemy.  Oneof LadyGaunt's carriages went to Hill Street for herLadyship'smotherall whose equipages were in the handsof thebailiffswhose very jewels and wardrobeit wassaidhadbeen seized by those inexorable Israelites.BareacresCastle was theirstoowith all its costlypicturesfurnitureand articles of vertu--the magnificentVandykes;the noble Reynolds pictures; the Lawrenceportraitstawdry and beautifulandthirty years agodeemed asprecious as works of real genius; the matchlessDancingNymph of Canovafor which Lady Bareacreshad sat inher youth--Lady Bareacres splendid thenandradiant in wealthrankand beauty--a toothlessbaldoldwoman now--a mere rag of a former robe ofstate. Her lordpainted at the same time by Lawrenceas wavinghis sabre in front of Bareacres Castleandclothed inhis uniform as Colonel of the ThistlewoodYeomanrywas a witheredoldlean man in agreatcoatand a Brutus wigslinking about Gray's Inn ofmorningschiefly and dining alone at clubs.  He did notlike todine with Steyne now.  They had run races ofpleasuretogether in youth when Bareacres was thewinner. But Steyne had more bottom than he and had lastedhim out. The Marquis was ten times a greater man nowthan theyoung Lord Gaunt of '85and Bareacresnowhere inthe race--oldbeatenbankruptand brokendown. He had borrowed too much money of Steyne tofind itpleasant to meet his old comrade often.  The latterwheneverhe wished to be merryused jeeringly to askLady Gauntwhy her father had not come to see her."Hehas not been here for four months" Lord Steynewouldsay.  "I can always tell by my cheque-bookafterwardswhen I get a visit from Bareacres.  What acomfort itismy ladiesI bank with one of my sons'fathers-in-lawand the other banks with me!"

Of theother illustrious persons whom Becky had thehonour toencounter on this her first presentation to thegrandworldit does not become the present historianto saymuch.  There was his Excellency the Prince ofPeterwaradinwith his Princess--a nobleman tightlygirthedwith a large military cheston which the plaqueof hisorder shone magnificentlyand wearing the redcollar ofthe Golden Fleece round his neck.  He was theowner ofcountless flocks.  "Look at his face.  I think hemust bedescended from a sheep" Becky whispered toLordSteyne.  Indeedhis Excellency's countenancelongsolemnand whitewith the ornament round his neck.bore someresemblance to that of a venerable bell-wether.

There wasMr. John Paul Jefferson Jonestitularlyattachedto the American Embassy and correspondentof the NewYork Demagoguewhoby way of makinghimselfagreeable to the companyasked Lady Steyneduring apause in the conversation at dinnerhow hisdearfriendGeorge Gauntliked the Brazils? He andGeorge hadbeen most intimate at Naples and had goneupVesuvius together.  Mr. Jones wrote a full andparticularaccount of the dinnerwhich appeared duly intheDemagogue.  He mentioned the names and titles ofall theguestsgiving biographical sketches of the principalpeople. He described the persons of the ladies withgreateloquence; the service of the table; the size andcostume ofthe servants; enumerated the dishes and winesserved;the ornaments of the sideboard; and the probablevalue ofthe plate.  Such a dinner he calculated could notbe dishedup under fifteen or eighteen dollars per head.And he wasin the habituntil very latelyof sendingoverprotegeswith letters of recommendation to thepresentMarquis of Steyneencouraged to do so by theintimateterms on which he had lived with his dearfriendthe late lord.  He was most indignant that ayoung andinsignificant aristocratthe Earl of Southdownshouldhave taken the pas of him in their procession tothedining-room.  "Just as I was stepping up to offer myhand to avery pleasing and witty fashionablethebrilliantand exclusive Mrs. Rawdon Crawley"--he wrote--"theyoung patrician interposed between me and thelady andwhisked my Helen off without a word of apology.I was fainto bring up the rear with the Colonelthelady'shusbanda stout red-faced warrior whodistinguishedhimself at Waterloowhere he had better luckthanbefell some of his brother redcoats at New Orleans."

TheColonel's countenance on coming into this politesocietywore as many blushes as the face of a boy ofsixteenassumes when he is confronted with his sister'sschoolfellows. It has been told before that honest Rawdonhad notbeen much used at any period of his life toladies'company.  With the men at the Club or the messroomhewas well enough; and could ridebetsmokeor play atbilliards with the boldest of them.  He had hadhis timefor female friendships toobut that was twentyyears agoand the ladies were of the rank of those withwhom YoungMarlow in the comedy is represented ashavingbeen familiar before he became abashed in thepresenceof Miss Hardcastle.  The times are such thatonescarcely dares to allude to that kind of companywhichthousands of our young men in Vanity Fair arefrequentingevery daywhich nightly fills casinos anddancing-roomswhich is known to exist as well as theRing inHyde Park or the Congregation at St.  James's--butwhich the most squeamish if not the most moralofsocieties is determined to ignore.  In a wordalthoughColonelCrawley was now five-and-forty years of ageit had notbeen his lot in life to meet with a half dozengoodwomenbesides his paragon of a wife.  All excepther andhis kind sister Lady Janewhose gentle naturehad tamedand won himscared the worthy Coloneland onoccasion of his first dinner at Gaunt House hewas notheard to make a single remark except to statethat theweather was very hot.  Indeed Becky would haveleft himat homebut that virtue ordained that herhusbandshould be by her side to protect the timid andflutteringlittle creature on her first appearance in politesociety.

On herfirst appearance Lord Steyne stepped forwardtaking herhandand greeting her with great courtesyandpresenting her to Lady Steyneand their ladyshipsherdaughters.  Their ladyships made three stately curtsiesand theelder lady to be sure gave her hand to thenewcomerbut it was as cold and lifeless as marble.

Becky tookithoweverwith grateful humilityandperforminga reverence which would have done creditto thebest dancer-masterput herself at Lady Steyne'sfeetasit wereby saying that his Lordship had beenherfather's earliest friend and patronand that sheBeckyhadlearned to honour and respect the Steynefamilyfrom the days of her childhood.  The fact is that LordSteyne hadonce purchased a couple of pictures of thelateSharpand the affectionate orphan could neverforget hergratitude for that favour. The LadyBareacres then came under Becky's cognizance--to whomthe Colonel's lady made also a most respectfulobeisance: it was returned with severe dignity by theexaltedperson in question.

"Ihad the pleasure of making your Ladyship'sacquaintanceat Brusselsten years ago" Becky said inthe mostwinning manner.  "I had the good fortune tomeet LadyBareacres at the Duchess of Richmond's ballthe nightbefore the Battle of Waterloo.  And I recollectyourLadyshipand my Lady Blancheyour daughtersitting inthe carriage in the porte-cochere at the Innwaitingfor horses.  I hope your Ladyship's diamonds aresafe."

Everybody'seyes looked into their neighbour's.  Thefamousdiamonds had undergone a famous seizureitappearsabout which Beckyof courseknew nothing.RawdonCrawley retreated with Lord Southdown into awindowwhere the latter was heard to laugh immoderatelyas Rawdontold him the story of Lady Bareacreswantinghorses and "knuckling down by Jove" to Mrs.Crawley. "I think I needn't be afraid of THAT woman"Beckythought.  IndeedLady Bareacres exchangedterrifiedand angry looks with her daughter and retreatedto atablewhere she began to look at pictures withgreatenergy.

When thePotentate from the Danube made his appearancetheconversation was carried on in the French languageand theLady Bareacres and the younger ladiesfoundtotheir farther mortificationthat Mrs. Crawleywas muchbetter acquainted with that tongueand spokeit with amuch better accent than they.  Becky had metotherHungarian magnates with the army in France in1816-17. She asked after her friends with great interestTheforeign personages thought that she was a lady ofgreatdistinctionand the Prince and the Princess askedseverallyof Lord Steyne and the Marchionesswhomtheyconducted to dinnerwho was that petite dame whospoke sowell?

Finallythe procession being formed in the orderdescribedby the American diplomatistthey marched intotheapartment where the banquet was servedand whichas I havepromised the reader he shall enjoy ithe shallhave theliberty of ordering himself so as to suit hisfancy.

But it waswhen the ladies were alone that Beckyknew thetug of war would come.  And then indeed thelittlewoman found herself in such a situation as madeheracknowledge the correctness of Lord Steyne'scaution toher to beware of the society of ladies above herownsphere.  As they saythe persons who hate Irishmenmost areIrishmen; soassuredlythe greatest tyrantsover womenare women.  When poor little Beckyalone withthe ladieswent up to the fire-place whitherthe greatladies had repairedthe great ladies marchedaway andtook possession of a table of drawings.  WhenBeckyfollowed them to the table of drawingstheydroppedoff one by one to the fire again.  She tried tospeak toone of the children (of whom she wascommonlyfond in public places)but Master George Gauntwas calledaway by his mamma; and the stranger wastreatedwith such cruelty finallythat even Lady Steyneherselfpitied her and went up to speak to the friendlesslittlewoman.

"LordSteyne" said her Ladyshipas her wan cheeksglowedwith a blush"says you sing and play verybeautifullyMrs. Crawley--I wish you would do me thekindnessto sing to me."

"Iwill do anything that may give pleasure to my LordSteyne orto you" said Rebeccasincerely gratefulandseatingherself at the pianobegan to sing.

She sangreligious songs of Mozartwhich had beenearlyfavourites of Lady Steyneand with such sweetnessandtenderness that the ladylingering round the pianosat downby its side and listened until the tears rolleddown hereyes.  It is true that the opposition ladies atthe otherend of the room kept up a loud and ceaselessbuzzingand talkingbut the Lady Steyne did not hearthoserumours.  She was a child again--and hadwanderedback through a forty years' wilderness to herconventgarden.  The chapel organ had pealed the same tonestheorganistthe sister whom she loved best of thecommunityhad taught them to her in those early happydays. She was a girl once moreand the brief period ofherhappiness bloomed out again for an hour--shestartedwhen the jarring doors were flung openand witha loudlaugh from Lord Steynethe men of the partyenteredfull of gaiety.

He saw ata glance what had happened in his absenceand wasgrateful to his wife for once.  He wentand spoketo herand called her by her Christian nameso asagain to bring blushes to her pale face--"My wifesays youhave been singing like an angel" he said toBecky. Now there are angels of two kindsand both sortsit issaidare charming in their way.

Whateverthe previous portion of the evening hadbeentherest of that night was a great triumph forBecky. She sang her very bestand it was so good thatevery oneof the men came and crowded round thepiano. The womenher enemieswere left quite alone.And Mr.Paul Jefferson Jones thought he had made aconquestof Lady Gaunt by going up to her Ladyshipandpraising her delightful friend's first-rate singing.

CHAPTER LContainsa Vulgar Incident

The Musewhoever she bewho presides over thisComicHistory must now descend from the genteel heightsin whichshe has been soaring and have the goodnessto dropdown upon the lowly roof of John Sedley atBromptonand describe what events are taking placethere. Heretooin this humble tenementlive careanddistrustand dismay.  Mrs. Clapp in the kitchen isgrumblingin secret to her husband about the rentandurging thegood fellow to rebel against his old friendand patronand his present lodger.  Mrs. Sedley hasceased tovisit her landlady in the lower regions nowand indeedis in a position to patronize Mrs. Clappnolonger.  How can one be condescending to a lady towhom oneowes a matter of forty poundsand who isperpetuallythrowing out hints for the money? The Irishmaidservanthas not altered in the least in her kind andrespectfulbehaviour; but Mrs. Sedley fancies that sheis growinginsolent and ungratefulandas the guiltythief whofears each bush an officersees threateninginnuendoesand hints of capture in all the girl's speechesandanswers.  Miss Clappgrown quite a young womannowisdeclared by the soured old lady to be an unbearableandimpudent little minx.  Why Amelia can be sofond ofheror have her in her room so muchor walkout withher so constantlyMrs. Sedley cannot conceive.Thebitterness of poverty has poisoned the life of theoncecheerful and kindly woman.  She is thankless forAmelia'sconstant and gentle bearing towards her; carpsat her forher efforts at kindness or service; rails at herfor hersilly pride in her child and her neglect of herparents. Georgy's house is not a very lively one sinceUncleJos's annuity has been withdrawn and the littlefamily arealmost upon famine diet.

Ameliathinksand thinksand racks her brainto findsome meansof increasing the small pittance upon whichthehousehold is starving.  Can she give lessons inanything?paint card-racks? do fine work? She finds thatwomen areworking hardand better than she canfortwopence aday.  She buys a couple of begilt Bristolboards atthe Fancy Stationer's and paints her very bestuponthem--a shepherd with a red waistcoat on oneanda pinkface smiling in the midst of a pencil landscape--ashepherdess on the othercrossing a little bridgewith alittle dognicely shaded.  The man of the FancyRepositoryand Brompton Emporium of Fine Arts (ofwhom shebought the screensvainly hoping that hewouldrepurchase them when ornamented by her hand)can hardlyhide the sneer with which he examines thesefeebleworks of art.  He looks askance at the lady whowaits inthe shopand ties up the cards again in theirenvelopeof whitey-brown paperand hands them to thepoor widowand Miss Clappwho had never seen suchbeautifulthings in her lifeand had been quiteconfidentthat the man must give at least two guineas forthescreens.  They try at other shops in the interior ofLondonwith faint sickening hopes.  "Don't want 'em"says one. "Be off" says another fiercely.  Three-and-sixpencehas beenspent in vain--the screens retire to MissClapp'sbedroomwho persists in thinking them lovely.

She writesout a little card in her neatest handandafter longthought and labour of compositionin which thepublic isinformed that "A Lady who has some time atherdisposalwishes to undertake the education of somelittlegirlswhom she would instruct in Englishin FrenchinGeographyin Historyand in Music--address A.  O.at Mr.Brown's"; and she confides the card to the gentlemanof theFine Art Repositorywho consents to allowit to lieupon the counterwhere it grows dingy andfly-blown. Amelia passes the door wistfully many a timein hopesthat Mr. Brown will have some news to giveherbuthe never beckons her in.  When she goes tomakelittle purchasesthere is no news for her.  Poorsimpleladytender and weak--how are you to battlewith thestruggling violent world?

She growsdaily more care-worn and sadfixing uponher childalarmed eyeswhereof the little boy cannotinterpretthe expression.  She starts up of a night andpeeps intohis room stealthilyto see that he is sleepingand notstolen away.  She sleeps but little now.  Aconstantthought and terror is haunting her.  How sheweeps andprays in the long silent nights--how she triesto hidefrom herself the thought which will return to herthat sheought to part with the boythat she is the onlybarrierbetween him and prosperity.  She can'tshe can't.Not nowat least.  Some other day.  Oh! it is too hard tothink ofand to bear.

A thoughtcomes over her which makes her blush andturn fromherself--her parents might keep the annuity--thecurate would marry her and give a home to herand theboy.  But George's picture and dearest memoryare thereto rebuke her.  Shame and love say no to thesacrifice. She shrinks from it as from something unholyand suchthoughts never found a resting-place in thatpure andgentle bosom.

Thecombatwhich we describe in a sentence or twolasted formany weeks in poor Amelia's heartduringwhich shehad no confidante; indeedshe could neverhave oneas she would not allow to herself thepossibilityof yieldingthough she was giving way dailybefore theenemy with whom she had to battle.  One truthafteranother was marshalling itself silently against herandkeeping its ground.  Poverty and misery for allwantanddegradation for her parentsinjustice to the boy--one by onethe outworks of the little citadel were takenin whichthe poor soul passionately guarded her onlylove andtreasure.

At thebeginning of the struggleshe had written off aletter oftender supplication to her brother at Calcuttaimploringhim not to withdraw the support which he hadgranted totheir parents and painting in terms of artlesspathostheir lonely and hapless condition.  She did notknow thetruth of the matter.  The payment of Jos'sannuitywas still regularbut it was a money-lender in theCity whowas receiving it:  old Sedley had sold it for asum ofmoney wherewith to prosecute his bootlessschemes. Emmy was calculating eagerly the time thatwouldelapse before the letter would arrive and beanswered. She had written down the date in her pocket-book ofthe day when she dispatched it.  To her son'sguardianthe good Major at Madrasshe had notcommunicatedany of her griefs and perplexities.  She hadnotwritten to him since she wrote to congratulate him onhisapproaching marriage.  She thought with sickeningdespondencythat that friend--the only onethe onewho hadfelt such a regard for her--was fallen away.

One daywhen things had come to a very bad pass--when thecreditors were pressingthe mother inhystericgriefthe father in more than usual gloomtheinmates ofthe family avoiding each othereach secretlyoppressedwith his private unhappiness and notion ofwrong--thefather and daughter happened to be leftalonetogetherand Amelia thought to comfort her fatherby tellinghim what she had done.  She had written toJoseph--ananswer must come in three or four months.He wasalways generousthough careless.  He could notrefusewhen he knew how straitened were thecircumstancesof his parents.

Then thepoor old gentleman revealed the whole truthtoher--that his son was still paying the annuitywhichhis ownimprudence had flung away.  He had not daredto tell itsooner.  He thought Amelia's ghastly and terrifiedlookwhenwith a tremblingmiserable voice he madetheconfessionconveyed reproaches to him for hisconcealment. "Ah!" said he with quivering lips and turningaway"youdespise your old father now!"

"Ohpapal it is not that" Amelia cried outfallingon hisneck and kissing him many times.  "You arealwaysgood and kind.  You did it for the best.  It is notfor themoney--it is--my God! my God! have mercyupon meand give me strength to bear this trial"; andshe kissedhim again wildly and went away.

Still thefather did not know what that explanationmeantandthe burst of anguish with which the poorgirl lefthim.  It was that she was conquered.  The sentencewaspassed.  The child must go from her--to others--toforgether.  Her heart and her treasure--her joyhopeloveworship--her Godalmost!  She must give him upandthen--and then she would go to Georgeand theywouldwatch over the child and wait for him until hecame tothem in Heaven.

She put onher bonnetscarcely knowing what she didand wentout to walk in the lanes by which George usedto comeback from schooland where she was in thehabit ofgoing on his return to meet the boy.  It wasMayahalf-holiday.  The leaves were all coming outtheweather was brilliant; the boy came running to herflushedwith healthsinginghis bundle of school-bookshanging bya thong.  There he was.  Both her arms wereroundhim.  Noit was impossible.  They could not begoing topart.  "What is the matterMother?" said he;"youlook very pale."

"Nothingmy child" she said and stooped down andkissedhim.

That nightAmelia made the boy read the story ofSamuel toherand how Hannahhis motherhavingweanedhimbrought him to Eli the High Priest toministerbefore the Lord.  And he read the song of gratitudewhichHannah sangand which sayswho it is whomakethpoor and maketh richand bringeth low andexalteth--howthe poor shall be raised up out of thedustandhowin his own mightno man shall be strong.Then heread how Samuel's mother made him a littlecoat andbrought it to him from year to year when shecame up tooffer the yearly sacrifice.  And thenin hersweetsimple wayGeorge's mother made commentariesto the boyupon this affecting story.  How Hannahthoughshe lovedher son so muchyet gave him up becauseof hervow.  And how she must always have thought ofhim as shesat at homefar awaymaking the littlecoat; andSamuelshe was surenever forgot his mother;and howhappy she must have been as the time came(and theyears pass away very quick) when she shouldsee herboy and how good and wise he had grown.  Thislittlesermon she spoke with a gentle solemn voiceanddry eyesuntil she came to the account of theirmeeting--thenthe discourse broke off suddenlythe tenderheartoverflowedand taking the boy to her breastsherocked himin her arms and wept silently over him ina saintedagony of tears.

Her mindbeing made upthe widow began to takesuchmeasures as seemed right to her for advancing theend whichshe proposed.  One dayMiss OsborneinRussellSquare (Amelia had not written the name or numberof thehouse for ten years--her youthher early storycame backto her as she wrote the superscription) oneday MissOsborne got a letter from Amelia which madeher blushvery much and look towards her fathersittinggloomingin his place at the other end of the table.

In simpletermsAmelia told her the reasons whichhadinduced her to change her mind respecting her boy.Her fatherhad met with fresh misfortunes which hadentirelyruined him.  Her own pittance was so small thatit wouldbarely enable her to support her parents andwould notsuffice to give George the advantages whichwere hisdue.  Great as her sufferings would be at partingwith himshe wouldby God's helpendure them for theboy'ssake.  She knew that those to whom he was goingwould doall in their power to make him happy.  Shedescribedhis dispositionsuch as she fancied it--quickandimpatient of control or harshnesseasily to be movedby loveand kindness.  In a postscriptshe stipulated thatshe shouldhave a written agreementthat she shouldsee thechild as often as she wished--she could notpart withhim under any other terms.

"What?Mrs. Pride has come downhas she?" oldOsbornesaidwhen with a tremulous eager voice MissOsborneread him the letter.  "Reg'lar starved outhey?Haha! I knew she would." He tried to keep his dignityand toread his paper as usual--but he could not followit. He chuckled and swore to himself behind the sheet.

At last heflung it down andscowling at his daughteras hiswont waswent out of the room into his studyadjoiningfrom whence he presently returned with akey. He flung it to Miss Osborne.

"Getthe room over mine--his room that was--ready"he said. "Yessir" his daughter replied in a tremble.It wasGeorge's room.  It had not been opened for morethan tenyears.  Some of his clothespapershandkerchiefswhips andcapsfishing-rods and sporting gearwere stillthere.  An Army list of 1814with his namewritten onthe cover; a little dictionary he was wont touse inwriting; and the Bible his mother had given himwere onthe mantelpiecewith a pair of spurs and adriedinkstand covered with the dust of ten years.  Ah!since thatink was wetwhat days and people had passedaway! The writing-bookstill on the tablewas blottedwith hishand.

MissOsborne was much affected when she firstenteredthis room with the servants under her.  She sankquite paleon the little bed.  "This is blessed newsm'am--indeedm'am" the housekeeper said; "and the goodold timesis returningm'am.  The dear little fellerto besurem'am; how happy he will be!  But some folks inMay Fairm'amwill owe him a grudgem'am"; andsheclicked back the bolt which held the window-sashand letthe air into the chamber.

"Youhad better send that woman some money" Mr.Osbornesaidbefore he went out.  "She shan't want fornothing. Send her a hundred pound."

"AndI'll go and see her to-morrow?" Miss Osborneasked.

"That'syour look out.  She don't come in heremind.Noby --not for all the money in London.  But shemustn'twant now.  So look outand get things right." Withwhichbrief speeches Mr. Osborne took leave of hisdaughterand went on his accustomed way into the City.

"HerePapais some money" Amelia said thatnightkissing the old manher fatherand putting a billfor ahundred pounds into his hands.  "And--andMammadon't beharsh with Georgy.  He--he is not going to stopwith uslong." She could say nothing moreand walkedawaysilently to her room.  Let us close it upon herprayersand her sorrow.  I think we had best speak littleabout somuch love and grief.

MissOsborne came the next dayaccording to thepromisecontained in her noteand saw Amelia.  Themeetingbetween them was friendly.  A look and a few wordsfrom MissOsborne showed the poor widow thatwithregard tothis woman at leastthere need be no fearlest sheshould take the first place in her son's affection.She wascoldsensiblenot unkind.  The mother hadnot beenso well pleasedperhapshad the rival beenbetterlookingyoungermore affectionatewarmer-hearted. Miss Osborneon the other handthought of oldtimes andmemories and could not but be touched withthe poormother's pitiful situation.  She was conqueredand layingdown her armsas it wereshe humblysubmitted. That day they arranged together thepreliminariesof the treaty of capitulation.

George waskept from school the next dayand sawhis aunt. Amelia left them alone together and went toher room. She was trying the separation--as that poorgentleLady Jane Grey felt the edge of the axe that wasto comedown and sever her slender life.  Days werepassed inparleysvisitspreparations.  The widow brokethe matterto Georgy with great caution; she looked tosee himvery much affected by the intelligence.  He wasratherelated than otherwiseand the poor womanturnedsadly away.  He bragged about the news that dayto theboys at school; told them how he was going tolive withhis grandpapa his father's fathernot the onewho comeshere sometimes; and that he would be veryrichandhave a carriageand a ponyand go to a muchfinerschooland when he was rich he would buy Leader'spencil-caseand pay the tart-woman.  The boy was theimage ofhis fatheras his fond mother thought.

Indeed Ihave no hearton account of our dearAmelia'ssaketo go through the story of George's lastdays athome.

At lastthe day camethe carriage drove upthe littlehumblepackets containing tokens of love and remembrancewere readyand disposed in the hall long since--Georgewas in his new suitfor which the tailor hadcomepreviously to measure him.  He had sprung up withthe sunand put on the new clotheshis mother hearinghim fromthe room close byin which she had beenlyinginspeechless grief and watching.  Days before shehad beenmaking preparations for the endpurchasinglittlestores for the boy's usemarking his books andlinentalking with him and preparing him for the change--fondlyfancying that he needed preparation.

So that hehad changewhat cared he? He was longingfor it. By a thousand eager declarations as to whathe woulddowhen he went to live with his grandfatherhe hadshown the poor widow how little the idea ofpartinghad cast him down.  "He would come and seehis mammaoften on the pony" he said.  "He wouldcome andfetch her in the carriage; they would drivein theparkand she should have everything she wanted."The poormother was fain to content herself with theseselfishdemonstrations of attachmentand tried toconvinceherself how sincerely her son loved her.  He mustlove her. All children were so:  a little anxious for noveltyand--nonot selfishbut self-willed.  Her child musthave hisenjoyments and ambition in the world.  Sheherselfby her own selfishness and imprudent love for himhad deniedhim his just rights and pleasures hitherto.

I know fewthings more affecting than that timorousdebasementand self-humiliation of a woman.  How sheowns thatit is she and not the man who is guilty; howshe takesall the faults on her side; how she courts in amannerpunishment for the wrongs which she has notcommittedand persists in shielding the real culprit!  Itis thosewho injure women who get the most kindnessfromthem--they are born timid and tyrants andmaltreatthose who are humblest before them.

So poorAmelia had been getting ready in silent miseryfor herson's departureand had passed many and manya longsolitary hour in making preparations for the end.Georgestood by his motherwatching her arrangementswithoutthe least concern.  Tears had fallen into his boxes;passageshad been scored in his favourite books; old toysrelicstreasures had been hoarded away for himandpackedwith strange neatness and care--and of all thesethings theboy took no note.  The child goes away smilingas themother breaks her heart.  By heavens it is pitifulthebootless love of women for children in Vanity Fair.

A few daysare pastand the great event of Amelia'slife isconsummated.  No angel has intervened.  The childissacrificed and offered up to fateand the widow isquitealone.

The boycomes to see her oftento be sure.  He rideson a ponywith a coachman behind himto the delightof his oldgrandfatherSedleywho walks proudly downthe laneby his side.  She sees himbut he is not her boyany more. Whyhe rides to see the boys at the littleschooltooand to show off before them his new wealthandsplendour.  In two days he has adopted a slightlyimperiousair and patronizing manner.  He was born tocommandhis mother thinksas his father was beforehim.

It is fineweather now.  Of evenings on the days whenhe doesnot comeshe takes a long walk into London--yesasfar as Russell Squareand rests on the stoneby therailing of the garden opposite Mr. Osborne's house.It is sopleasant and cool.  She can look up and see thedrawing-roomwindows illuminatedandat about nineo'clockthe chamber in the upper story where Georgysleeps. She knows--he has told her.  She prays thereas thelight goes outprays with an humble heartand walkshome shrinking and silent.  She is very tiredwhen shecomes home.  Perhaps she will sleep the betterfor thatlong weary walkand she may dream aboutGeorgy.

One Sundayshe happened to be walking in RussellSquareatsome distance from Mr. Osborne's house (shecould seeit from a distance though) when all the bellsof Sabbathwere ringingand George and his aunt cameout to goto church; a little sweep asked for charityand thefootmanwho carried the bookstried to drivehim away;but Georgy stopped and gave him money.  MayGod'sblessing be on the boy!  Emmy ran round the squareandcoming up to the sweepgave him her mite too.All thebells of Sabbath were ringingand she followedthem untilshe came to the Foundling Churchinto whichshe went. There she sat in a place whence she couldsee thehead of the boy under his father's tombstone.Manyhundred fresh children's voices rose up there andsang hymnsto the Father Beneficentand little George'ssoulthrilled with delight at the burst of gloriouspsalmody. His mother could not see him for awhilethroughthe mist that dimmed her eyes.

CHAPTER LIInWhich a Charade Is Acted Which May or MayNotPuzzle the Reader

AfterBecky's appearance at my Lord Steyne's privateand selectpartiesthe claims of that estimable womanas regardsfashion were settledand some of the verygreatestand tallest doors in the metropolis werespeedilyopened to her--doors so great and tall that thebelovedreader and writer hereof may hope in vain toenter atthem.  Dear brethrenlet us tremble beforethoseaugust portals.  I fancy them guarded by groomsof thechamber with flaming silver forks with which theyprong allthose who have not the right of the entree.They saythe honest newspaper-fellow who sits in thehall andtakes down the names of the great ones whoareadmitted to the feasts dies after a little time.  Hecan'tsurvive the glare of fashion long.  It scorches himupas thepresence of Jupiter in full dress wasted thatpoorimprudent Semele--a giddy moth of a creature whoruinedherself by venturing out of her natural atmosphere.Her mythought to be taken to heart amongst theTyburniansthe Belgravians--her storyand perhapsBecky'stoo.  Ahladies!--ask the Reverend Mr. ThuriferifBelgravia is not a sounding brass and Tyburnia atinklingcymbal.  These are vanities.  Even these will passaway. And some day or other (but it will be after ourtimethank goodness) Hyde Park Gardens will be nobetterknown than the celebrated horticultural outskirtsofBabylonand Belgrave Square will be as desolate asBakerStreetor Tadmor in the wilderness.

Ladiesare you aware that the great Pitt lived in BakerStreet?What would not your grandmothers have givento beasked to Lady Hester's parties in that nowdecayedmansion? I have dined in it--moi qui vous parleI peopledthe chamber with ghosts of the mighty dead.As we satsoberly drinking claret there with men ofto-daythe spirits of the departed came in and took theirplacesround the darksome board.  The pilot whoweatheredthe storm tossed off great bumpers of spiritualport; theshade of Dundas did not leave the ghost of aheeltap. Addington sat bowing and smirking in a ghastlymannerand would not be behindhand when thenoiselessbottle went round; Scottfrom under bushy eyebrowswinked atthe apparition of a beeswing; Wilberforce'seyes wentup to the ceilingso that he did not seem toknow howhis glass went up full to his mouth and camedownempty; up to the ceiling which was above us onlyyesterdayand which the great of the past days have alllookedat.  They let the house as a furnished lodgingnow. YesLady Hester once lived in Baker Streetandliesasleep in the wilderness.  Eothen saw her there--not inBaker Streetbut in the other solitude.

It is allvanity to be surebut who will not own toliking alittle of it? I should like to know what well-constitutedmindmerely because it is transitorydislikesroastbeef? That is a vanitybut may every man whoreads thishave a wholesome portion of it through lifeI beg: ayethough my readers were five hundredthousand. Sit downgentlemenand fall towith a good heartyappetite;the fatthe leanthe gravythe horse-radishas youlike it--don't spare it.  Another glass of wineJonesmyboy--a little bit of the Sunday side.  Yesletus eat ourfill of the vain thing and be thankful therefor.And let usmake the best of Becky's aristocraticpleasureslikewise--for these toolike all other mortaldelightswere but transitory.

The upshotof her visit to Lord Steyne was that HisHighnessthe Prince of Peterwaradin took occasion torenew hisacquaintance with Colonel Crawleywhenthey meton the next day at the Cluband to complimentMrs.Crawley in the Ring of Hyde Park with aprofoundsalute of the hat.  She and her husband wereinvitedimmediately to one of the Prince's small partiesat LevantHousethen occupied by His Highness duringthetemporary absence from England of its nobleproprietor. She sang after dinner to a very little comite.TheMarquis of Steyne was presentpaternallysuperintendingthe progress of his pupil.

At LevantHouse Becky met one of the finest gentlemenandgreatest ministers that Europe has produced--the Duc dela Jabotierethen Ambassador from the MostChristianKingand subsequently Minister to thatmonarch. I declare I swell with pride as these august namesaretranscribed by my penand I think in what brilliantcompany mydear Becky is moving.  She became aconstantguest at the French Embassywhere no party wasconsideredto be complete without the presence of thecharmingMadame Ravdonn Cravley.

Messieursde Truffigny (of the Perigord family) andChampignacboth attaches of the Embassywerestraightwaysmitten by the charms of the fair Colonel'swifeandboth declaredaccording to the wont of theirnation(for who ever yet met a Frenchmancome out ofEnglandthat has not left half a dozen families miserableandbrought away as many hearts in his pocket-book?)bothIsaydeclared that they were au mieux with thecharmingMadame Ravdonn.

But Idoubt the correctness of the assertion.  Champignacwas veryfond of ecarteand made many partieswith theColonel of eveningswhile Becky was singing toLordSteyne in the other room; and as for Truffignyit isawell-known fact that he dared not go to the Travellers'where heowed money to the waitersand if he had nothad theEmbassy as a dining-placethe worthy younggentlemanmust have starved.  I doubtI saythat Beckywould haveselected either of these young men as aperson onwhom she would bestow her special regard.  Theyran of hermessagespurchased her gloves and flowerswent indebt for opera-boxes for herand madethemselvesamiable in a thousand ways.  And they talkedEnglishwith adorable simplicityand to the constantamusementof Becky and my Lord Steyneshe would mimicone orother to his faceand compliment him on hisadvance inthe English language with a gravity which neverfailed totickle the Marquisher sardonic old patron.Truffignygave Briggs a shawl by way of winning overBecky'sconfidanteand asked her to take charge of aletterwhich the simple spinster handed over in publicto theperson to whom it was addressedand thecompositionof which amused everybody who read it greatly.LordSteyne read iteverybody but honest Rawdontowhom itwas not necessary to tell everything that passedin thelittle house in May Fair.

Herebefore longBecky received not only "the best"foreigners(as the phrase is in our noble and admirablesocietyslang)but some of the best English people too.I don'tmean the most virtuousor indeed the leastvirtuousor the cleverestor the stupidestor the richestorthe bestbornbut "the best"--in a wordpeople aboutwhom thereis no question--such as the great Lady Fitz-Willisthat Patron Saint of Almack'sthe great LadySlowborethe great Lady Grizzel Macbeth (she wasLady G. Glowrydaughter of Lord Grey of Glowry)and thelike.  When the Countess of Fitz-Willis (herLadyshipis of the Kingstreet familysee Debrett andBurke)takes up a personhe or she is safe.  There is noquestionabout them any more.  Not that my Lady Fitz-Willis isany better than anybody elsebeingon thecontrarya faded personfifty-seven years of ageandneitherhandsomenor wealthynor entertaining; but it isagreed onall sides that she is of the "best people."Those whogo to her are of the best:  and from an oldgrudgeprobably to Lady Steyne (for whose coronet herladyshipthen the youthful Georgina Fredericadaughterof thePrince of Wales's favouritethe Earl of Portansherryhad oncetried)this great and famous leader ofthefashion chose to acknowledge Mrs. RawdonCrawley;made her a most marked curtsey at the assemblyover whichshe presided; and not only encouraged hersonSt. Kitts (his lordship got his place through LordSteyne'sinterest)to frequent Mrs. Crawley's housebutasked herto her own mansion and spoke to her twice inthe mostpublic and condescending manner duringdinner. The important fact was known all over London thatnight. People who had been crying fie about Mrs.Crawleywere silent.  Wenhamthe wit and lawyerLordSteyne'sright-hand manwent about everywhere praisingher: some who had hesitatedcame forward at onceandwelcomed her; little Tom Toadywho had warnedSouthdownabout visiting such an abandoned womannowbesought to be introduced to her.  In a wordshewasadmitted to be among the "best" people.  Ahmybelovedreaders and brethrendo not envy poor Beckyprematurely--glorylike this is said to be fugitive.  It iscurrentlyreported that even in the very inmost circlesthey areno happier than the poor wanderers outside thezone; andBeckywho penetrated into the very centre offashionand saw the great George IV face to facehasownedsince that there too was Vanity.

We must bebrief in descanting upon this part of hercareer. As I cannot describe the mysteries of freemasonryalthough Ihave a shrewd idea that it is a humbugso anuninitiated man cannot take upon himself toportraythe great world accuratelyand had best keep hisopinionsto himselfwhatever they are.

Becky hasoften spoken in subsequent years of thisseason ofher lifewhen she moved among the verygreatestcircles of the London fashion.  Her successexcitedelatedand then bored her.  At first no occupationwas morepleasant than to invent and procure (the lattera work ofno small trouble and ingenuityby the wayina personof Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's very narrow means)--toprocurewe saythe prettiest new dresses andornaments;to drive to fine dinner partieswhere she waswelcomedby great people; and from the fine dinnerparties tofine assemblieswhither the same people camewith whomshe had been diningwhom she had met thenightbeforeand would see on the morrow--the youngmenfaultlessly appointedhandsomely cravattedwiththeneatest glossy boots and white gloves--the eldersportlybrass-buttonednoble-lookingpoliteand prosy--theyoung ladies blondetimidand in pink--themothersgrandbeautifulsumptuoussolemnand indiamonds. They talked in Englishnot in bad Frenchasthey do inthe novels.  They talked about each others'housesand charactersand families--just as the Jonesesdo aboutthe Smiths.  Becky's former acquaintances hatedand enviedher; the poor woman herself was yawning inspirit. "I wish I were out of it" she said to herself.  "Iwouldrather be a parson's wife and teach a Sundayschoolthan this; or a sergeant's lady and ride in theregimentalwaggon; orohhow much gayer it would beto wearspangles and trousers and dance before a boothat afair."

"Youwould do it very well" said Lord Steynelaughing.She usedto tell the great man her ennuis andperplexitiesin her artless way--they amused him.

"Rawdonwould make a very good Ecuyer--Master oftheCeremonies--what do you call him--the man in thelargeboots and the uniformwho goes round the ringcrackingthe whip? He is largeheavyand of a militaryfigure. I recollect" Becky continued pensively"myfathertook me to see a show at Brookgreen Fair when Iwas achildand when we came homeI made myself apair ofstilts and danced in the studio to the wonder ofall thepupils."

"Ishould have liked to see it" said Lord Steyne.

"Ishould like to do it now" Becky continued.  "HowLadyBlinkey would open her eyesand Lady GrizzelMacbethwould stare!  Hush! silence! there is Pastabeginningto sing." Becky always made a point of beingconspicuouslypolite to the professional ladies andgentlemenwho attended at these aristocratic parties--offollowingthem into the corners where they sat in silenceandshaking hands with themand smiling in the view ofallpersons.  She was an artist herselfas she said verytruly;there was a frankness and humility in the mannerin whichshe acknowledged her originwhich provokedordisarmedor amused lookers-onas the case mightbe. "How cool that woman is" said one; "what airs ofindependenceshe assumeswhere she ought to sit stilland bethankful if anybody speaks to her!" "What anhonest andgood-natured soul she is!" said another."Whatan artful little minx" said a third.  They were allright verylikelybut Becky went her own wayand sofascinatedthe professional personages that they wouldleave offtheir sore throats in order to sing at her partiesand giveher lessons for nothing.

Yesshegave parties in the little house in CurzonStreet. Many scores of carriageswith blazing lampsblocked upthe streetto the disgust of No.  100whocould notrest for the thunder of the knockingand of102whocould not sleep for envy.  The gigantic footmenwhoaccompanied the vehicles were too big to becontainedin Becky's little halland were billeted off in theneighbouringpublic-houseswhencewhen they werewantedcall-boys summoned them from their beer.Scores ofthe great dandies of London squeezed andtrod oneach other on the little stairslaughing to findthemselvesthere; and many spotless and severe ladies ofton wereseated in the little drawing-roomlistening totheprofessional singerswho were singing according totheirwontand as if they wished to blow the windowsdown. And the day afterthere appeared among thefashionablereunions in the Morning Post a paragraphto thefollowing effect:

"YesterdayColonel and Mrs. Crawley entertained aselectparty at dinner at their house in May Fair.  TheirExcellenciesthe Prince and Princess of PeterwaradinH. E.  Papoosh Pashathe Turkish Ambassador (attendedby KibobBeydragoman of the mission)the Marquessof SteyneEarl of SouthdownSir Pitt and LadyJaneCrawleyMr. Wagg&c.  After dinner Mrs. Crawleyhad anassembly which was attended by the Duchess(Dowager)of StiltonDuc de la GruyereMarchionessofCheshireMarchese Alessandro StrachinoComte deBrieBaron SchapzugerChevalier TostiCountess ofSlingstoneand Lady F.  MacadamMajor-General andLady G. Macbethand (2) Miss Macbeths; ViscountPaddingtonSir Horace FogeyHon.  Sands BedwinBobachyBahawder" and an &c.which the reader may fillat hispleasure through a dozen close lines of small type.

And in hercommerce with the great our dear friendshowed thesame frankness which distinguished hertransactionswith the lowly in station.  On one occasionwhen outat a very fine houseRebecca was (perhapsratherostentatiously) holding a conversation in theFrenchlanguage with a celebrated tenor singer of thatnationwhile the Lady Grizzel Macbeth looked over hershoulderscowling at the pair.

"Howvery well you speak French" Lady Grizzel saidwhoherself spoke the tongue in an Edinburgh accentmostremarkable to hear.

"Iought to know it" Becky modestly saidcastingdown hereyes.  "I taught it in a schooland my motherwas aFrenchwoman."

LadyGrizzel was won by her humility and wasmollifiedtowards the little woman.  She deplored the fatallevellingtendencies of the agewhich admitted personsof allclasses into the society of their superiorsbut herladyshipowned that this one at least was well behavedand neverforgot her place in life.  She was a very goodwoman: good to the poor; stupidblamelessunsuspicious.It is nother ladyship's fault that she fancies herselfbetterthan you and me.  The skirts of her ancestors'garmentshave been kissed for centuries; it is a thousandyearsthey saysince the tartans of the head of thefamilywere embraced by the defunct Duncan's lords andcouncillorswhen the great ancestor of the HousebecameKing of Scotland.

LadySteyneafter the music scenesuccumbed beforeBeckyandperhaps was not disinclined to her.  Theyoungerladies of the house of Gaunt were alsocompelledinto submission.  Once or twice they set people atherbutthey failed.  The brilliant Lady Stunnington trieda passageof arms with herbut was routed with greatslaughterby the intrepid little Becky.  When attackedsometimesBecky had a knack of adopting a demureingenueairunder which she was most dangerous.  Shesaid thewickedest things with the most simple unaffectedair whenin this moodand would take care artlessly toapologizefor her blundersso that all the world shouldknow thatshe had made them.

Mr. Waggthe celebrated witand a led captain andtrencher-manof my Lord Steynewas caused by theladies tocharge her; and the worthy fellowleering at hispatronessesand giving them a winkas much as to say"Nowlook out for sport" one evening began an assaultuponBeckywho was unsuspiciously eating her dinner.The littlewomanattacked on a suddenbut neverwithoutarmslighted up in an instantparried and ripostedwith ahome-thrustwhich made Wagg's face tingle withshame;then she returned to her soup with the mostperfectcalm and a quiet smile on her face.  Wagg's greatpatronwho gave him dinners and lent him a little moneysometimesand whose electionnewspaperand otherjobs Waggdidgave the luckless fellow such a savageglancewith the eyes as almost made him sink under thetable andburst into tears.  He looked piteously at mylordwhonever spoke to him during dinnerand at theladieswho disowned him.  At last Becky herself tookcompassionupon him and tried to engage him in talk.He was notasked to dinner again for six weeks; andFichemylord's confidential manto whom Waggnaturallypaid a good deal of courtwas instructed to tellhim thatif he ever dared to say a rude thing to Mrs.Crawleyagainor make her the butt of his stupid jokesMilorwould put every one of his notes of hand into hislawyer'shands and sell him up without mercy.  Waggweptbefore Fiche and implored his dear friend to intercedefor him. He wrote a poem in favour of Mrs. R.  C.whichappeared in the very next number of the Harum-scarumMagazinewhich he conducted.  He implored hergood-willat parties where he met her.  He cringed andcoaxedRawdon at the club.  He was allowed to come backto GauntHouse after a while.  Becky was always good tohimalways amusednever angry.

Hislordship's vizier and chief confidential servant(with aseat in parliament and at the dinner table)Mr.Wenhamwas much more prudent in his behaviour andopinionsthan Mr. Wagg.  However much he might bedisposedto hate all parvenus (Mr. Wenham himself was astaunchold True Blue Toryand his father a small coal-merchantin the north of England)this aide-de-camp oftheMarquis never showed any sort of hostility to thenewfavouritebut pursued her with stealthy kindnessesand a slyand deferential politeness which somehowmade Beckymore uneasy than other people's overthostilities.

How theCrawleys got the money which was spentupon theentertainments with which they treated thepoliteworld was a mystery which gave rise to someconversationat the timeand probably added zest to theselittlefestivities.  Some persons averred that Sir Pitt Crawleygave hisbrother a handsome allowance; if he didBecky'spower over the Baronet must have beenextraordinaryindeedand his character greatly changed in hisadvancedage.  Other parties hinted that it was Becky'shabit tolevy contributions on all her husband's friends:going tothis one in tears with an account that there wasanexecution in the house; falling on her knees to thatone anddeclaring that the whole family must go to gaolor commitsuicide unless such and such a bill could bepaid. Lord Southdownit was saidhad been induced togive manyhundreds through these pathetic representations.YoungFelthamof the --th Dragoons (and son of the firm ofTiler andFelthamhatters and army accoutrement makers)and whomthe Crawleys introduced into fashionablelifewasalso cited as one of Becky's victims in thepecuniaryway.  People declared that she got moneyfromvarious simply disposed personsunder pretence ofgettingthem confidential appointments under Government.Who knowswhat stories were or were not told ofour dearand innocent friend? Certain it is that if she hadhad allthe money which she was said to have begged orborrowedor stolenshe might have capitalized and beenhonest forlifewhereas--but this is advancing matters.

The truthisthat by economy and good management--by asparing use of ready money and by paying scarcelyanybody--peoplecan managefor a time at leasttomake agreat show with very little means:  and it is ourbeliefthat Becky's much-talked-of partieswhich werenotafterall was saidvery numerouscost this lady verylittlemore than the wax candles which lighted the walls.Stillbrookand Queen's Crawley supplied her with gameand fruitin abundance.  Lord Steyne's cellars were at herdisposaland that excellent nobleman's famous cookspresidedover her little kitchenor sent by my lord'sorder therarest delicacies from their own.  I protest it isquiteshameful in the world to abuse a simple creatureas peopleof her time abuse Beckyand I warn thepublicagainst believing one-tenth of the stories against her.If everyperson is to be banished from society who runsinto debtand cannot pay--if we are to be peering intoeverybody'sprivate lifespeculating upon their incomeandcutting them if we don't approve of their expenditure--whywhat a howling wilderness and intolerable dwellingVanityFair would be!  Every man's hand would beagainsthis neighbour in this casemy dear sirand thebenefitsof civilization would be done away with.  Weshould bequarrellingabusingavoiding one another.  Ourhouseswould become cavernsand we should go in ragsbecause wecared for nobody.  Rents would go down.Partieswouldn't be given any more.  All the tradesmenof thetown would be bankrupt.  Winewax-lightscomestiblesrougecrinoline-petticoatsdiamondswigsLouis-Quatorzegimcracksand old chinapark hacksandsplendidhigh-stepping carriage horses--all the delightsof lifeIsay--would go to the deuceif people did butact upontheir silly principles and avoid those whom theydislikeand abuse.  Whereasby a little charity and mutualforbearancethings are made to go on pleasantlyenough: we may abuse a man as much as we likeandcall himthe greatest rascal unhanged--but do we wishto hanghim therefore? No.  We shake hands when wemeet. If his cook is good we forgive him and go and dinewith himand we expect he will do the same by us.  Thustradeflourishes--civilization advances; peace is kept;newdresses are wanted for new assemblies every week;and thelast year's vintage of Lafitte will remunerate thehonestproprietor who reared it.

At thetime whereof we are writingthough the GreatGeorge wason the throne and ladies wore gigots andlargecombs like tortoise-shell shovels in their hairinstead ofthe simple sleeves and lovely wreaths which areactuallyin fashionthe manners of the very polite worldwere notI take itessentially different from those of thepresentday:  and their amusements pretty similar.  To usfrom theoutsidegazing over the policeman's shouldersat thebewildering beauties as they pass into Court orballtheymay seem beings of unearthly splendour and intheenjoyment of an exquisite happiness by us unattainable.It is toconsole some of these dissatisfied beingsthat weare narrating our dear Becky's strugglesandtriumphsand disappointmentsof all of whichindeedas is thecase with all persons of meritshe had her share.

At thistime the amiable amusement of acting charadeshad comeamong us from Franceand was considerablyin voguein this countryenabling the many ladiesamongst uswho had beauty to display their charmsandthe fewernumber who had cleverness to exhibit their wit.My LordSteyne was incited by Beckywho perhapsbelievedherself endowed with both the above qualificationsto give anentertainment at Gaunt Housewhich shouldincludesome of these little dramas--and we must takeleave tointroduce the reader to this brilliant reunionandwitha melancholy welcome toofor it will be amongthe verylast of the fashionable entertainments to whichit will beour fortune to conduct him.

A portionof that splendid roomthe picture gallery ofGauntHousewas arranged as the charade theatre.  Ithad beenso used when George III was king; and apicture ofthe Marquis of Gaunt is still extantwith his hairin powderand a pink ribbonin a Roman shapeas itwascalledenacting the part of Cato in Mr. Addison'stragedy ofthat nameperformed before their RoyalHighnessesthe Prince of Walesthe Bishop of Osnaburghand PrinceWilliam Henrythen children like the actor.One or twoof the old properties were drawn out of thegarretswhere they had lain ever sinceand furbished upanew forthe present festivities.

YoungBedwin Sandsthen an elegant dandy and Easterntravellerwas manager of the revels.  An Eastern travellerwassomebody in those daysand the adventurousBedwinwho had published his quarto and passed somemonthsunder the tents in the desertwas a personage ofno smallimportance.  In his volume there were severalpicturesof Sands in various oriental costumes; and hetravelledabout with a black attendant of mostunprepossessingappearancejust like another Brian de BoisGuilbert. Bedwinhis costumesand black manwerehailed atGaunt House as very valuable acquisitions.

He led offthe first charade.  A Turkish officer with animmenseplume of feathers (the Janizaries weresupposedto be still in existenceand the tarboosh had notas yetdisplaced the ancient and majestic head-dress ofthe truebelievers) was seen couched on a divanandmakingbelieve to puff at a narghilein whichhoweverfor thesake of the ladiesonly a fragrant pastille wasallowed tosmoke.  The Turkish dignitary yawns andexpressessigns of weariness and idleness.  He claps his handsandMesrour the Nubian appearswith bare armsbanglesyataghansand every Eastern ornament--gaunttallandhideous.  He makes a salaam before my lord theAga.

A thrillof terror and delight runs through the assembly.The ladieswhisper to one another.  The black slavewas givento Bedwin Sands by an Egyptian pasha inexchangefor three dozen of Maraschino.  He has sewn upever somany odalisques in sacks and tilted them intothe Nile.

"Bidthe slave-merchant enter" says the Turkishvoluptuarywith a wave of his hand.  Mesrour conducts theslave-merchantinto my lord's presence; he brings aveiledfemale with him.  He removes the veil.  A thrill ofapplausebursts through the house.  It is Mrs. Winkworth(she was aMiss Absolom) with the beautiful eyes andhair. She is in a gorgeous oriental costume; the blackbraidedlocks are twined with innumerable jewels; herdress iscovered over with gold piastres.  The odiousMahometanexpresses himself charmed by her beauty.  Shefalls downon her knees and entreats him to restore herto themountains where she was bornand where herCircassianlover is still deploring the absence of his Zuleikah.Noentreaties will move the obdurate Hassan.  Helaughs atthe notion of the Circassian bridegroom.Zuleikahcovers her face with her hands and drops down inanattitude of the most beautiful despair.  There seems tobe no hopefor herwhen--when the Kislar Aga appears.

The KislarAga brings a letter from the Sultan.  Hassanreceivesand places on his head the dread firman.  Aghastlyterror seizes himwhile on the Negro's face (it isMesrouragain in another costume) appears a ghastlyjoy. "Mercy!  mercy!" cries the Pasha:  while theKislarAgagrinning horriblypulls out--a bow-string.

Thecurtain draws just as he is going to use that awfulweapon. Hassan from within bawls out"First twosyllables"--andMrs. Rawdon Crawleywho is going to act inthecharadecomes forward and compliments Mrs.Winkworthon the admirable taste and beauty of hercostume.

The secondpart of the charade takes place.  It is stillan Easternscene.  Hassanin another dressis in anattitudeby Zuleikahwho is perfectly reconciled to him.The KislarAga has become a peaceful black slave.  It issunrise onthe desertand the Turks turn their headseastwardsand bow to the sand.  As there are no dromedariesat handthe band facetiously plays "The Camelsarecoming." An enormous Egyptian head figures in thescene. It is a musical one--andto the surprise of theorientaltravellerssings a comic songcomposed by Mr.Wagg. The Eastern voyagers go off dancinglikePapagenoand the Moorish King in The Magic Flute.  "Lasttwosyllables" roars the head.

The lastact opens.  It is a Grecian tent this time.  Atall andstalwart man reposes on a couch there.  Abovehim hanghis helmet and shield.  There is no need forthem now. Ilium is down.  Iphigenia is slain.  Cassandra isa prisonerin his outer halls.  The king of men (it isColonelCrawleywhoindeedhas no notion about the sackof Iliumor the conquest of Cassandra)the anax andronis asleepin his chamber at Argos.  A lamp casts thebroadshadow of the sleeping warrior flickering on thewall--thesword and shield of Troy glitter in its light.The bandplays the awful music of Don Juanbefore thestatueenters.

Aegisthussteals in pale and on tiptoe.  What is thatghastlyface looking out balefully after him from behindthe arras?He raises his dagger to strike the sleeperwhoturns inhis bedand opens his broad chest as if for theblow. He cannot strike the noble slumbering chieftain.Clytemnestraglides swiftly into the room like anapparition--herarms are bare and white--her tawny hairfloatsdown her shoulders--her face is deadly pale--andher eyesare lighted up with a smile so ghastly thatpeoplequake as they look at her.

A tremorran through the room.  "Good God!" somebodysaid"it's Mrs. Rawdon Crawley."

Scornfullyshe snatches the dagger out of Aegisthus'shand andadvances to the bed.  You see it shining overher headin the glimmer of the lampand--and the lampgoes outwith a groanand all is dark.

Thedarkness and the scene frightened people.  Rebeccaperformedher part so welland with such ghastlytruththat the spectators were all dumbuntilwith aburstallthe lamps of the hall blazed out againwheneverybodybegan to shout applause.  "Brava!  brava!" oldSteyne'sstrident voice was heard roaring over all therest. "By--she'd do it too" he said between his teeth.Theperformers were called by the whole housewhichsoundedwith cries of "Manager!  Clytemnestra!"Agamemnoncould not be got to show in his classicaltunicbutstood in the background with Aegisthus andothers ofthe performers of the little play.  Mr. BedwinSands ledon Zuleikah and Clytemnestra.  A greatpersonageinsisted on being presented to the charmingClytemnestra. "Heigh ha? Run him through the body.Marrysomebody elsehay?" was the apposite remarkmade byHis Royal Highness.

"Mrs.Rawdon Crawley was quite killing in the part"said LordSteyne.  Becky laughedgay and saucy lookingand sweptthe prettiest little curtsey ever seen.

Servantsbrought in salvers covered with numerous cooldaintiesand the performers disappeared to get readyfor thesecond charade-tableau.

The threesyllables of this charade were to be depictedinpantomimeand the performance took place in thefollowingwise:

Firstsyllable.  Colonel Rawdon CrawleyC.B.with aslouchedhat and a staffa great-coatand a lanternborrowedfrom the stablespassed across the stage bawlingoutas ifwarning the inhabitants of the hour.  In thelowerwindow are seen two bagmen playing apparentlyat thegame of cribbageover which they yawn much.To thementers one looking like Boots (the HonourableG. Ringwood)which character the young gentlemanperformedto perfectionand divests them of their lowercoverings;and presently Chambermaid (the RightHonourableLord Southdown) with two candlesticksand awarming-pan. She ascends to the upper apartment andwarms thebed.  She uses the warming-pan as a weaponwherewithshe wards off the attention of the bagmen.Sheexits.  They put on their night-caps and pull downtheblinds.  Boots comes out and closes the shutters oftheground-floor chamber.  You hear him bolting andchainingthe door within.  All the lights go out.  The musicplaysDormezdormezchers Amours.  A voice frombehind thecurtain says"First syllable."

Secondsyllable.  The lamps are lighted up all of asudden. The music plays the old air from John of ParisAh quelplaisir d'etre en voyage.  It is the same scene.Betweenthe first and second floors of the houserepresentedyou behold a sign on which the Steyne armsarepainted.  All the bells are ringing all over the house.In thelower apartment you see a man with a long slip ofpaperpresenting it to anotherwho shakes his fiststhreatensand vows that it is monstrous.  "Ostlerbringround mygig" cries another at the door.  He chucksChambermaid(the Right Honourable Lord Southdown)under thechin; she seems to deplore his absenceasCalypsodid that of that other eminent traveller Ulysses.Boots (theHonourable G.  Ringwood) passes with awoodenboxcontaining silver flagonsand cries "Pots"with suchexquisite humour and naturalness that thewholehouse rings with applauseand a bouquet is thrownto him. Crackcrackcrackgo the whips.   Landlordchambermaidwaiter rush to the doorbut just as somedistinguishedguest is arrivingthe curtains closeand theinvisibletheatrical manager cries out "Second syllable."

"Ithink it must be 'Hotel' " says Captain Grigg of theLifeGuards; there is a general laugh at the Captain'scleverness. He is not very far from the mark.

While thethird syllable is in preparationthe bandbegins anautical medley--"All in the Downs" "Cease RudeBoreas""Rule Britannia" "In the Bay of Biscay O!"--somemaritime event is about to take place.  A ben isheardringing as the curtain draws aside.  "Nowgentsfor theshore!" a voice exclaims.  People take leave ofeachother.  They point anxiously as if towards the cloudswhich arerepresented by a dark curtainand they nodtheirheads in fear.  Lady Squeams (the Right HonourableLordSouthdown)her lap-dogher bagsreticulesandhusbandsit downand cling hold of some ropes.  It isevidentlya ship.

TheCaptain (Colonel CrawleyC.B.)with a cockedhat and atelescopecomes inholding his hat on hisheadandlooks out; his coat tails fly about as if in thewind. When he leaves go of his hat to use his telescopehis hatflies offwith immense applause.  It is blowingfresh. The music rises and whistles louder and louder;themariners go across the stage staggeringas if the shipwas insevere motion.  The Steward (the Honourable G.Ringwood)passes reeling byholding six basins.  He putsonerapidly by Lord Squeams--Lady Squeamsgiving apinch toher dogwhich begins to howl piteouslyputsherpocket-handkerchief to her faceand rushes away asfor thecabin.  The music rises up to the wildest pitch ofstormyexcitementand the third syllable is concluded.

There wasa little ballet"Le Rossignol" in whichMontessuand Noblet used to be famous in those daysand whichMr. Wagg transferred to the English stage asan operaputting his verseof which he was a skilfulwritertothe pretty airs of the ballet.  It was dressed inold Frenchcostumeand little Lord Southdown nowappearedadmirably attired in the disguise of an old womanhobblingabout the stage with a faultless crooked stick.

Trills ofmelody were heard behind the scenesandgurglingfrom a sweet pasteboard cottage covered withroses andtrellis work.  "PhilomelePhilomele" criesthe oldwomanand Philomele comes out.

Moreapplause--it is Mrs. Rawdon Crawley in powderandpatchesthe most ravissante little Marquise in theworld.

She comesin laughinghummingand frisks about thestage withall the innocence of theatrical youth--shemakes acurtsey.  Mamma says "Whychildyou arealwayslaughing and singing" and away she goeswith--

THE ROSEUPON MY BALCONY

The roseupon my balcony the morning air perfumingWasleafless all the winter time and pining for the spring;You ask mewhy her breath is sweet and why her cheek is bloomingIt isbecause the sun is out and birds begin to sing.

Thenightingalewhose melody is through the greenwood ringingWas silentwhen the boughs were bare and winds were blowing keen:And ifMammayou ask of me the reason of his singingIt isbecause the sun is out and all the leaves are green.

Thus eachperforms his partMammathe birds have found their voicesTheblowing rose a flushMammaher bonny cheek to dye;Andthere's sunshine in my heartMammawhich wakens  andrejoicesAnd so Ising and blushMammaand that's the reason why.

During theintervals of the stanzas of this dittythegood-naturedpersonage addressed as Mamma by thesingerand whose large whiskers appeared under her capseemedvery anxious to exhibit her maternal affectionbyembracing the innocent creature who performed thedaughter'spart.  Every caress was received with loudacclamationsof laughter by the sympathizing audience.At itsconclusion (while the music was performing asymphonyas if ever so many birds were warbling) thewholehouse was unanimous for an encore:  and applauseandbouquets without end were showered upon theNightingaleof the evening.  Lord Steyne's voice ofapplausewas loudest of all.  Beckythe nightingaletooktheflowers which he threw to her and pressed them toher heartwith the air of a consummate comedian.  LordSteyne wasfrantic with delight.  His guests' enthusiasmharmonizedwith his own.  Where was the beautifulblack-eyedHouri whose appearance in the first charade hadcausedsuch delight? She was twice as handsome asBeckybutthe brilliancy of the latter had quite eclipsedher. All voices were for her.  StephensCaradoriRonzide Begnispeople compared her to one or the otherandagreedwith good reasonvery likelythat had she beenan actressnone on the stage could have surpassed her.She hadreached her culmination:  her voice rose trillingand brightover the storm of applauseand soared ashigh andjoyful as her triumph.  There was a ball afterthedramatic entertainmentsand everybody pressedroundBecky as the great point of attraction of theevening. The Royal Personage declared with an oath thatshe wasperfectionand engaged her again and again inconversation. Little Becky's soul swelled with pride anddelight atthese honours; she saw fortunefamefashionbeforeher.  Lord Steyne was her slavefollowed hereverywhereand scarcely spoke to any one in the roombesideand paid her the most marked compliments andattention. She still appeared in her Marquise costumeand danceda minuet with Monsieur de TruffignyMonsieurLe Duc de la Jabotiere's attache; and theDukewhohad all the traditions of the ancient courtpronouncedthat Madame Crawley was worthy to havebeen apupil of Vestrisor to have figured at Versailles.Only afeeling of dignitythe goutand the strongestsense ofduty and personal sacrifice prevented hisExcellencyfrom dancing with her himselfand he declaredin publicthat a lady who could talk and dance like Mrs.Rawdon wasfit to be ambassadress at any court inEurope. He was only consoled when he heard that shewas half aFrenchwoman by birth.  "None but acompatriot"his Excellency declared"could have performedthatmajestic dance in such a way."

Then shefigured in a waltz with Monsieur deKlingenspohrthe Prince of Peterwaradin's cousin andattache. The delighted Princehaving less retenue thanhis Frenchdiplomatic colleagueinsisted upon taking aturn withthe charming creatureand twirled round theball-roomwith herscattering the diamonds out of hisboot-tasselsand hussar jacket until his Highness was fairlyout ofbreath.  Papoosh Pasha himself would have likedto dancewith her if that amusement had been the customof hiscountry.  The company made a circle round herandapplauded as wildly as if she had been a Noblet oraTaglioni.  Everybody was in ecstacy; and Becky tooyou may besure.  She passed by Lady Stunnington witha look ofscorn.  She patronized Lady Gaunt and herastonishedand mortified sister-in-law--she ecrased allrivalcharmers.  As for poor Mrs. Winkworthand herlong hairand great eyeswhich had made such an effectat thecommencement of the evening--where was shenow?Nowhere in the race.  She might tear her long hairand cryher great eyes outbut there was not a personto heed orto deplore the discomfiture.

Thegreatest triumph of all was at supper time.  Shewas placedat the grand exclusive table with his RoyalHighnessthe exalted personage before mentionedandthe restof the great guests.  She was served on goldplate. She might have had pearls melted into herchampagneif she liked--another Cleopatra--and the potentateofPeterwaradin would have given half the brilliants offhis jacketfor a kind glance from those dazzling eyes.Jabotierewrote home about her to his government.  Theladies atthe other tableswho supped off mere silver andmarkedLord Steyne's constant attention to hervowedit was amonstrous infatuationa gross insult to ladies ofrank. If sarcasm could have killedLady Stunningtonwould haveslain her on the spot.

RawdonCrawley was scared at these triumphs.  Theyseemed toseparate his wife farther than ever from himsomehow. He thought with a feeling very like pain howimmeasurablyshe was his superior.

When thehour of departure camea crowd of youngmenfollowed her to her carriagefor which the peoplewithoutbawledthe cry being caught up by the link-menwho werestationed outside the tall gates of GauntHousecongratulating each person who issued from thegate andhoping his Lordship had enjoyed this nobleparty.

Mrs.Rawdon Crawley's carriagecoming up to thegate afterdue shoutingrattled into the illuminatedcourt-yardand drove up to the covered way.  Rawdonput hiswife into the carriagewhich drove off.  Mr.Wenham hadproposed to him to walk homeand offeredtheColonel the refreshment of a cigar.

Theylighted their cigars by the lamp of one of themanylink-boys outsideand Rawdon walked on with hisfriendWenham.  Two persons separated from the crowdandfollowed the two gentlemen; and when they hadwalkeddown Gaunt Square a few score of pacesoneof the mencame up andtouching Rawdon on the shouldersaid"Begyour pardonColonelI vish to speak toyou mostparticular." This gentleman's acquaintancegave aloud whistle as the latter spokeat which signal acab cameclattering up from those stationed at the gateof GauntHouse--and the aide-de-camp ran round andplacedhimself in front of Colonel Crawley.

Thatgallant officer at once knew what had befallenhim. He was in the hands of the bailiffs.  He started backfallingagainst the man who had first touched him.

"We'rethree on us--it's no use bolting" the manbehindsaid.

"It'syouMossis it?" said the Colonelwho appearedto knowhis interlocutor.  "How much is it?"

"Onlya small thing" whispered Mr. Mossof CursitorStreetChancery Laneand assistant officer to the SheriffofMiddlesex--"One hundred and sixty-sixsix and eight-penceatthe suit of Mr. Nathan."

"Lendme a hundredWenhamfor God's sake" poorRawdonsaid--"I've got seventy at home."

"I'venot got ten pounds in the world" said poor Mr.Wenham--"Goodnightmy dear fellow."

"Goodnight" said Rawdon ruefully.  And Wenhamwalkedaway--and Rawdon Crawley finished his cigaras the cabdrove under Temple Bar.

CHAPTERLIIInWhich Lord Steyne Shows Himself in a Most Amiable Light

When LordSteyne was benevolently disposedhe didnothing byhalvesand his kindness towards the Crawleyfamily didthe greatest honour to his benevolentdiscrimination. His lordship extended his good-will to littleRawdon: he pointed out to the boy's parents the necessityof sendinghim to a public schoolthat he was ofan age nowwhen emulationthe first principles of theLatinlanguagepugilistic exercisesand the society ofhisfellow-boys would be of the greatest benefit to theboy. His father objected that he was not rich enough tosend thechild to a good public school; his mother thatBriggs wasa capital mistress for himand had broughthim on (asindeed was the fact) famously in Englishthe Latinrudimentsand in general learning:  but all theseobjectionsdisappeared before the generous perseveranceof theMarquis of Steyne.  His lordship was one of thegovernorsof that famous old collegiate institution calledtheWhitefriars.  It had been a Cistercian Convent in olddayswhenthe Smithfieldwhich is contiguous to itwasatournament ground.  Obstinate heretics used to bebroughtthither convenient for burning hard by.  HenryVIIItheDefender of the Faithseized upon themonasteryand its possessions and hanged and tortured someof themonks who could not accommodate themselves tothe paceof his reform.  Finallya great merchant boughtthe houseand land adjoiningin whichand with the helpof otherwealthy endowments of land and moneyheestablisheda famous foundation hospital for old menandchildren.  An extern school grew round the old almostmonasticfoundationwhich subsists still with itsmiddle-agecostume and usages--and all Cistercians praythat itmay long flourish.

Of thisfamous housesome of the greatest noblemenprelatesand dignitaries in England are governors:  andas theboys are very comfortably lodgedfedandeducatedand subsequently inducted to good scholarshipsat theUniversity and livings in the Churchmany littlegentlemenare devoted to the ecclesiastical professionfrom theirtenderest yearsand there is considerableemulationto procure nominations for the foundation.  Itwasoriginally intended for the sons of poor anddeservingclerics and laicsbut many of the noble governorsof theInstitutionwith an enlarged and rather capriciousbenevolenceselected all sorts of objects for their bounty.To get aneducation for nothingand a future livelihoodandprofession assuredwas so excellent a scheme thatsome ofthe richest people did not disdain it; and notonly greatmen's relationsbut great men themselvessenttheir sonsto profit by the chance--Right Rev.  prelatessent theirown kinsmen or the sons of their clergywhileon theother handsome great noblemen did not disdaintopatronize the children of their confidential servants--so that alad entering this establishment had everyvariety ofyouthful society wherewith to mingle.

RawdonCrawleythough the only book which he studiedwas theRacing Calendarand though his chiefrecollectionsof polite learning were connected with thefloggingswhich he received at Eton in his early youthhad thatdecent and honest reverence for classical learningwhich allEnglish gentlemen feeland was glad to thinkthat hisson was to have a provision for lifeperhapsand acertain opportunity of becoming a scholar.  Andalthoughhis boy was his chief solace and companionandendearedto him by a thousand small tiesabout whichhe did notcare to speak to his wifewho had all alongshown theutmost indifference to their sonyet Rawdonagreed atonce to part with him and to give up his owngreatestcomfort and benefit for the sake of the welfareof thelittle lad.  He did not know how fond he was ofthe childuntil it became necessary to let him go away.When hewas gonehe felt more sad and downcast thanhe caredto own--far sadder than the boy himselfwhowas happyenough to enter a new career and findcompanionsof his own age.  Becky burst out laughing onceor twicewhen the Colonelin his clumsyincoherent waytried toexpress his sentimental sorrows at the boy'sdeparture. The poor fellow felt that his dearest pleasureandclosest friend was taken from him.  He looked oftenandwistfully at the little vacant bed in his dressing-roomwhere thechild used to sleep.  He missed him sadly ofmorningsand tried in vain to walk in the park withouthim. He did not know how solitary he was until littleRawdon wasgone.  He liked the people who were fond ofhimandwould go and sit for long hours with hisgood-naturedsister Lady Janeand talk to her aboutthevirtuesand good looksand hundred good qualitiesof thechild.

YoungRawdon's auntwe have saidwas very fondof himaswas her little girlwho wept copiously whenthe timefor her cousin's departure came.  The elderRawdon wasthankful for the fondness of mother anddaughter. The very best and honestest feelings of theman cameout in these artless outpourings of paternalfeeling inwhich he indulged in their presenceandencouragedby their sympathy.  He secured not only LadyJane'skindnessbut her sincere regardby the feelingswhich hemanifestedand which he could not show to hisown wife. The two kinswomen met as seldom as possible.Beckylaughed bitterly at Jane's feelings and softness;theother's kindly and gentle nature could not but revoltat hersister's callous behaviour.

Itestranged Rawdon from his wife more than he kneworacknowledged to himself.  She did not care for theestrangement. Indeedshe did not miss him or anybody.She lookedupon him as her errand-man and humbleslave. He might be ever so depressed or sulkyand shedid notmark his demeanouror only treated it with asneer. She was busy thinking about her positionor herpleasuresor her advancement in society; she ought tohave helda great place in itthat is certain.

It washonest Briggs who made up the little kit for theboy whichhe was to take to school.  Mollythe housemaidblubberedin the passage when he went away--Molly kindand faithful in spite of a long arrear ofunpaidwages.  Mrs. Becky could not let her husband havethecarriage to take the boy to school.  Take the horsesinto theCity!--such a thing was never heard of.  Let acab bebrought.  She did not offer to kiss him when hewentnordid the child propose to embrace her; butgave akiss to old Briggs (whomin generalhe was veryshy ofcaressing)and consoled her by pointing out thathe was tocome home on Saturdayswhen she wouldhave thebenefit of seeing him.  As the cab rolled towardsthe CityBecky's carriage rattled off to the park.  Shewaschattering and laughing with a score of young dandiesby theSerpentine as the father and son entered at theold gatesof the school--where Rawdon left the childand cameaway with a sadder purer feeling in his heartthanperhaps that poor battered fellow had ever knownsince hehimself came out of the nursery.

He walkedall the way home very dismallyand dinedalone withBriggs.  He was very kind to her and gratefulfor herlove and watchfulness over the boy.  Hisconsciencesmote him that he had borrowed Briggs's moneyand aidedin deceiving her.  They talked about littleRawdon along timefor Becky only came home to dressand go outto dinner--and then he went off uneasily todrink teawith Lady Janeand tell her of what hadhappenedand how little Rawdon went off like a trumpandhow he wasto wear a gown and little knee-breechesandhow youngBlackballJack Blackball's sonof the oldregimenthad taken him in charge and promised to bekind tohim.

In thecourse of a weekyoung Blackball hadconstitutedlittle Rawdon his fagshoe-blackand breakfasttoaster;initiated him into the mysteries of the LatinGrammar;and thrashed him three or four timesbut notseverely. The little chap's good-natured honest face wonhis wayfor him.  He only got that degree of beating whichwasnodoubtgood for him; and as for blacking shoestoastingbreadand fagging in generalwere these officesnot deemedto be necessary parts of every young Englishgentleman'seducation?

Ourbusiness does not lie with the second generationand MasterRawdon's life at schoolotherwise the presenttale mightbe carried to any indefinite length.  The Colonelwent tosee his son a short time afterwards and foundthe ladsufficiently well and happygrinning and laughingin hislittle black gown and little breeches.

His fathersagaciously tipped Blackballhis masterasovereignand secured that young gentleman's good-willtowardshis fag.  As a protege of the great Lord Steynethe nephewof a County memberand son of a Coloneland C.B.whose name appeared in some of the mostfashionableparties in the Morning Postperhaps theschoolauthorities were disposed not to look unkindly onthechild.  He had plenty of pocket-moneywhich hespent intreating his comrades royally to raspberry tartsand he wasoften allowed to come home on Saturdaysto hisfatherwho always made a jubilee of that day.When freeRawdon would take him to the playor sendhimthither with the footman; and on Sundays he went tochurchwith Briggs and Lady Jane and his cousins.Rawdonmarvelled over his stories about schoolandfightsand fagging.  Before longhe knew the names of allthemasters and the principal boys as well as littleRawdonhimself.  He invited little Rawdon's crony fromschooland made both the children sick with pastryandoystersand porter after the play.  He tried to look knowingover theLatin grammar when little Rawdon showedhim whatpart of that work he was "in." "Stick to itmyboy"he said to him with much gravity"there's nothinglike agood classical education!  Nothing!"

Becky'scontempt for her husband grew greater everyday. "Do what you like--dine where you please--go andhaveginger-beer and sawdust at Astley'sor psalm-singingwith Lady Jane--only don't expect me to busymyselfwith the boy.  I have your interests to attend toas youcan't attend to them yourself.  I should like toknow whereyou would have been nowand in what sortof aposition in societyif I had not looked after you."Indeednobody wanted poor old Rawdon at the partieswhitherBecky used to go.  She was often asked withouthim now. She talked about great people as if she had thefee-simpleof May Fairand when the Court went intomourningshe always wore black.

LittleRawdon being disposed ofLord Steynewhotook sucha parental interest in the affairs of this amiablepoorfamilythought that their expenses might be veryadvantageouslycurtailed by the departure of Miss Briggsand thatBecky was quite clever enough to take themanagementof her own house.  It has been narrated in aformerchapter how the benevolent nobleman had givenhisprotegee money.to pay off her little debt to MissBriggswho however still remained behind with herfriends;whence my lord came to the painful conclusionthat Mrs.Crawley had made some other use of themoneyconfided to her than that for which her generouspatron hadgiven the loan.  HoweverLord Steyne wasnot sorude as to impart his suspicions upon this head toMrs.Beckywhose feelings might be hurt by anycontroversyon the money-questionand who might have athousandpainful reasons for disposing otherwise of hislordship'sgenerous loan.  But he determined to satisfyhimself ofthe real state of the caseand instituted thenecessaryinquiries in a most cautious and delicatemanner.

In thefirst place he took an early opportunity ofpumpingMiss Briggs.  That was not a difficult operation.A verylittle encouragement would set that worthy womanto talkvolubly and pour out all within her.  And one daywhen Mrs.Rawdon had gone out to drive (as Mr. Fichehislordship's confidential servanteasily learned at theliverystables where the Crawleys kept their carriage andhorsesorratherwhere the livery-man kept a carriageand horsesfor Mr. and Mrs. Crawley)--my lord droppedin uponthe Curzon Street house--asked Briggs for a cupofcoffee--told her that he had good accounts of the littleboy atschool--and in five minutes found out from herthat Mrs.Rawdon had given her nothing except a blacksilk gownfor which Miss Briggs was immensely grateful.

He laughedwithin himself at this artless story.  For thetruth isour dear friend Rebecca had given him a mostcircumstantialnarration of Briggs's delight at receivinghermoney--eleven hundred and twenty-five pounds--and inwhat securities she had invested it; and what apang Beckyherself felt in being obliged to pay away suchadelightful sum of money.  "Who knows" the dearwoman mayhave thought within herself"perhaps hemay giveme a little more?" My lordhowevermade nosuchproposal to the little schemer--very likely thinkingthat hehad been sufficiently generous already.

He had thecuriositythento ask Miss Briggs aboutthe stateof her private affairs--and she told his lordshipcandidlywhat her position was--how Miss Crawley hadleft her alegacy--how her relatives had had part of it--howColonel Crawley had put out another portionforwhich shehad the best security and interest--and howMr. andMrs. Rawdon had kindly busied themselves withSir Pittwho was to dispose of the remainder mostadvantageouslyfor herwhen he had time.  My lord askedhow muchthe Colonel had already invested for herandMissBriggs at once and truly told him that the sum wassixhundred and odd pounds.

But assoon as she had told her storythe volubleBriggsrepented of her frankness and besought my lordnot totell Mr. Crawley of the confessions which she hadmade. "The Colonel was so kind--Mr. Crawley mightbeoffended and pay back the moneyfor which shecould getno such good interest anywhere else." LordSteynelaughingpromised he never would divulge theirconversationand when he and Miss Briggs parted helaughedstill more.

"Whatan accomplished little devil it is!" thought he."Whata splendid actress and manager!  She had almostgot asecond supply out of me the other day; with hercoaxingways.  She beats all the women I have ever seenin thecourse of all my well-spent life.  They are babiescomparedto her.  I am a greenhorn myselfand a fool inherhands--an old fool.  She is unsurpassable in lies."Hislordship's admiration for Becky rose immeasurablyat thisproof of her cleverness.  Getting the money wasnothing--butgetting double the sum she wantedandpayingnobody--it was a magnificent stroke.  And Crawleymy lordthought--Crawley is not such a fool as helooks andseems.  He has managed the matter cleverlyenough onhis side.  Nobody would ever have supposedfrom hisface and demeanour that he knew anythingabout thismoney business; and yet he put her up to itand hasspent the moneyno doubt.  In this opinion mylordweknowwas mistakenbut it influenced a gooddeal hisbehaviour towards Colonel Crawleywhom hebegan totreat with even less than that semblance ofrespectwhich he had formerly shown towards thatgentleman. It never entered into the head of Mrs.Crawley'spatron that the little lady might be making apurse forherself; andperhapsif the truth must be toldhe judgedof Colonel Crawley by his experience of otherhusbandswhom he had known in the course of the longandwell-spent life which had made him acquainted witha greatdeal of the weakness of mankind.  My lord hadbought somany men during his life that he was surelyto bepardoned for supposing that he had found the priceof thisone.

He taxedBecky upon the point on the very first occasionwhen hemet her aloneand he complimented hergood-humouredlyon her cleverness in getting more thanthe moneywhich she required.  Becky was only a littletakenaback.  It was not the habit of this dear creatureto tellfalsehoodsexcept when necessity compelledbutin thesegreat emergencies it was her practice to lie veryfreely;and in an instant she was ready with another neatplausiblecircumstantial story which she administered toherpatron.  The previous statement which she had madeto him wasa falsehood--a wicked falsehood--sheowned it. But who had made her tell it? "Ahmy Lord"she said"you don't know all I have to suffer and bearinsilence; you see me gay and happy before you--youlittleknow what I have to endure when there is noprotectornear me.  It was my husbandby threats andthe mostsavage treatmentforced me to ask for thatsum aboutwhich I deceived you.  It was he whoforeseeingthat questions might be asked regarding thedisposalof the moneyforced me to account for it as Idid. He took the money.  He told me he had paid MissBriggs; Idid not wantI did not dare to doubt him.Pardon thewrong which a desperate man is forced tocommitand pity a miserablemiserable woman." Sheburst intotears as she spoke.  Persecuted virtue neverlookedmore bewitchingly wretched.

They had along conversationdriving round and roundtheRegent's Park in Mrs. Crawley's carriage togetheraconversation of which it is not necessary to repeatthedetailsbut the upshot of it was thatwhen Beckycame homeshe flew to her dear Briggs with a smilingface andannounced that she had some very good newsfor her. Lord Steyne had acted in the noblest and mostgenerousmanner.  He was always thinking how and whenhe coulddo good.  Now that little Rawdon was gone toschooladear companion and friend was no longernecessaryto her.  She was grieved beyond measure to partwithBriggsbut her means required that she shouldpractiseevery retrenchmentand her sorrow wasmitigatedby the idea that her dear Briggs would be farbetterprovided for by her generous patron than in herhumblehome.  Mrs. Pilkingtonthe housekeeper at GauntlyHallwasgrowing exceedingly oldfeebleand rheumatic:she wasnot equal to the work of superintendingthat vastmansionand must be on the look out for asuccessor. It was a splendid position.  The family did notgo toGauntly once in two years.  At other times thehousekeeperwas the mistress of the magnificentmansion--hadfour covers daily for her table; was visited bythe clergyand the most respectable people of the county--was thelady of Gauntlyin fact; and the two lasthousekeepersbefore Mrs. Pilkington had married rectorsofGauntly--but Mrs. P.  could notbeing the aunt ofthepresent Rector.  The place was not to be hers yetbut shemight go down on a visit to Mrs. Pilkington andseewhether she would like to succeed her.

What wordscan paint the ecstatic gratitude of Briggs!All shestipulated for was that little Rawdon should beallowed tocome down and see her at the Hall.  Beckypromisedthis--anything.  She ran up to her husband whenhe camehome and told him the joyful news.  Rawdonwas gladdeuced glad; the weight was off his conscienceabout poorBriggs's money.  She was provided forat anyratebut--but his mind was disquiet.  He did not seemto be allrightsomehow.  He told little Southdown whatLordSteyne had doneand the young man eyed Crawleywith anair which surprised the latter.

He toldLady Jane of this second proof of Steyne'sbountyand shetoolooked odd and alarmed; so didSir Pitt. "She is too clever and--and gay to be allowedto go fromparty to party without a companion" bothsaid. "You must go with herRawdonwherever shegoesandyou must have somebody with her--one of thegirls fromQueen's Crawleyperhapsthough they wererathergiddy guardians for her."

SomebodyBecky should have.  But in the meantimeit wasclear that honest Briggs must not lose her chanceofsettlement for lifeand so she and her bags werepackedand she set off on her journey.  And so two ofRawdon'sout-sentinels were in the hands of the enemy.

Sir Pittwent and expostulated with his sister-in-lawupon thesubject of the dismissal of Briggs and othermatters ofdelicate family interest.  In vain she pointedout to himhow necessary was the protection of LordSteyne forher poor husband; how cruel it would be ontheir partto deprive Briggs of the position offered to her.Cajolementscoaxingssmilestears could not satisfy SirPittandhe had something very like a quarrel with hisonceadmired Becky.  He spoke of the honour of thefamilythe unsullied reputation of the Crawleys;expressedhimself in indignant tones about her receivingthoseyoung Frenchmen--those wild young men of fashionmy LordSteyne himselfwhose carriage was alwaysat herdoorwho passed hours daily in her companyand whoseconstant presence made the world talk abouther. As the head of the house he implored her to bemoreprudent.  Society was already speaking lightly ofher. Lord Steynethough a nobleman of the greateststationand talentswas a man whose attentions wouldcompromiseany woman; he besoughthe imploredhecommandedhis sister-in-law to be watchful in herintercoursewith that nobleman.

Beckypromised anything and everything Pitt wanted;but LordSteyne came to her house as often as everand SirPitt's anger increased.  I wonder was Lady Janeangry orpleased that her husband at last found faultwith hisfavourite Rebecca? Lord Steyne's visitscontinuinghis own ceasedand his wife was for refusingallfurther intercourse with that nobleman and decliningtheinvitation to the charade-night which the marchionesssent toher; but Sir Pitt thought it was necessary toaccept itas his Royal Highness would be there.

Althoughhe went to the party in questionSir Pittquitted itvery earlyand his wifetoowas very gladto comeaway.  Becky hardly so much as spoke to him ornoticedher sister-in-law.  Pitt Crawley declared herbehaviourwas monstrously indecorousreprobated instrongterms the habit of play-acting and fancy dressingas highlyunbecoming a British femaleand after thecharadeswere overtook his brother Rawdon severelyto taskfor appearing himself and allowing his wife tojoin insuch improper exhibitions.

Rawdonsaid she should not join in any more suchamusements--butindeedand perhaps from hints fromhis elderbrother and sisterhe had already become averywatchful and exemplary domestic character.  He leftoff hisclubs and billiards.  He never left home.  He tookBecky outto drive; he went laboriously with her to allherparties.  Whenever my Lord Steyne calledhe wassure tofind the Colonel.  And when Becky proposed togo outwithout her husbandor received invitations forherselfhe peremptorily ordered her to refuse them:  andthere wasthat in the gentleman's manner which enforcedobedience. Little Beckyto do her justicewas charmedwithRawdon's gallantry.  If he was surlyshe never was.Whetherfriends were present or absentshe had alwaysa kindsmile for him and was attentive to his pleasureandcomfort.  It was the early days of their marriage overagain: the same good humourprevenancesmerrimentandartless confidence and regard.  "How much pleasanterit is"she would say"to have you by my side in thecarriagethan that foolish old Briggs!  Let us always go onsodearRawdon.  How nice it would beand how happywe shouldalways beif we had but the money!" Hefellasleep after dinner in his chair; he did not see thefaceopposite to himhaggardwearyand terrible; itlighted upwith fresh candid smiles when he woke.  Itkissed himgaily.  He wondered that he had ever hadsuspicions. Nohe never had suspicions; all those dumbdoubts andsurly misgivings which had been gathering onhis mindwere mere idle jealousies.  She was fond of him;she alwayshad been.  As for her shining in societyitwas nofault of hers; she was formed to shine there.Was thereany woman who could talkor singor doanythinglike her? If she would but like the boy!Rawdonthought.  But the mother and son never could bebroughttogether.

And it waswhile Rawdon's mind was agitated withthesedoubts and perplexities that the incident occurredwhich wasmentioned in the last chapterand theunfortunateColonel found himself a prisoner away fromhome.

CHAPTERLIII

FriendRawdon drove on then to Mr. Moss's mansioninCursitor Streetand was duly inducted into thatdismalplace of hospitality.  Morning was breakingover thecheerful house-tops of Chancery Lane as therattlingcab woke up the echoes there.  A littlepink-eyedJew-boywith a head as ruddy as the risingmornletthe party into the houseand Rawdon waswelcomedto the ground-floor apartments by Mr. Mosshistravellingcompanion and hostwho cheerfully asked himif hewould like a glass of something warm after his drive.

TheColonel was not so depressed as some mortalswould bewhoquitting a palace and a placens uxorfindthemselves barred into a spunging-house; forif thetruth mustbe toldhe had been a lodger at Mr. Moss'sestablishmentonce or twice before.  We have not thoughtitnecessary in the previous course of this narrative tomentionthese trivial little domestic incidents:  but thereader maybe assured that they can't unfrequently occurin thelife of a man who lives on nothing a year.

Upon hisfirst visit to Mr. Mossthe Colonelthenabachelorhad been liberated by the generosity of hisaunt; onthe second mishaplittle Beckywith the greatestspirit andkindnesshad borrowed a sum of money fromLordSouthdown and had coaxed her husband's creditor(who washer shawlvelvet-gownlace pocket-handkerchieftrinketand gim-crack purveyorindeed) to takea portionof the sum claimed and Rawdon's promissorynote forthe remainder:  so on both these occasions thecaptureand release had been conducted with the utmostgallantryon all sidesand Moss and the Colonel werethereforeon the very best of terms.

"You'llfind your old bedColoneland everythingcomfortable"that gentleman said"as I may honestly say.You may bepretty sure its kep airedand by the bestofcompanytoo.  It was slep in the night afore last bytheHonorable Capting Famishof the Fiftieth Dragoonswhose Martook him outafter a fortnightjest to punishhimshesaid.  ButLaw bless youI promise youhepunishedmy champagneand had a party ere every night--reglartip-top swellsdown from the clubs and theWestEnd--Capting Raggthe Honorable Deuceacewholives inthe Templeand some fellers as knows a goodglass ofwineI warrant you.  I've got a Doctor ofDiwinityupstairsfive gents in the coffee-roomand Mrs.Moss has atably-dy-hoty at half-past fiveand a littlecards ormusic afterwardswhen we shall be most happyto seeyou."

"I'llring when I want anything" said Rawdon andwentquietly to his bedroom.  He was an old soldierwe havesaidand not to be disturbed by any little shocksof fate. A weaker man would have sent off a letter to hiswife onthe instant of his capture.  "But what is the useofdisturbing her night's rest?" thought Rawdon.  "Shewon't knowwhether I am in my room or not.  It willbe timeenough to write to her when she has had hersleep outand I have had mine.  It's only a hundred-and-seventyand the deuce is in it if we can't raisethat."And sothinking about little Rawdon (whom hewould nothave know that he was in such a queer place)theColonel turned into the bed lately occupied byCaptainFamish and fell asleep.  It was ten o'clock whenhe wokeupand the ruddy-headed youth brought himwithconscious pridea fine silver dressing-casewherewithhe mightperform the operation of shaving.  IndeedMr. Moss'shousethough somewhat dirtywas splendidthroughout. There were dirty traysand wine-coolers enpermanenceon the sideboardhuge dirty gilt corniceswith dingyyellow satin hangings to the barred windowswhichlooked into Cursitor Street--vast and dirty giltpictureframes surrounding pieces sporting and sacredallof whichworks were by the greatest masters--and fetchedthegreatest pricestooin the bill transactionsin thecourse ofwhich they were sold and bought over andoveragain.  The Colonel's breakfast was served to himin thesame dingy and gorgeous plated ware.  Miss Mossadark-eyed maid in curl-papersappeared with theteapotandsmilingasked the Colonel how he had slep?And shebrought him in the Morning Postwith thenames ofall the great people who had figured at LordSteyne'sentertainment the night before.  It contained abrilliantaccount of the festivities and of the beautifulandaccomplished Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's admirablepersonifications.

After alively chat with this lady (who sat on theedge ofthe breakfast table in an easy attitude displayingthedrapery of her stocking and an ex-white satin shoewhich wasdown at heel)Colonel Crawley called forpens andinkand paperand being asked how manysheetschose one which was brought to him betweenMissMoss's own finger and thumb.  Many a sheet hadthatdark-eyed damsel brought in; many a poor fellowhadscrawled and blotted hurried lines of entreaty andpaced upand down that awful room until his messengerbroughtback the reply.  Poor men always use messengersinstead ofthe post.  Who has not had their letterswiththe waferswetand the announcement that a personis waitingin the hall?

Now on thescore of his applicationRawdon had notmanymisgivings.

DEARBECKY(Rawdon wrote)

I HOPE YOUSLEPT WELL.  Don't be FRIGHTENED if I don'tbring youin your COFFY.  Last night as I was cominghomesmoakingI met with an ACCADENT.  I was NABBEDby Moss ofCursitor Street--from whose GILT AND SPLENDIDPARLER Iwrite this--the same that had me this timetwoyears.  Miss Moss brought in my tea--she is grownvery FATandas usualhad her STOCKENS DOWN AT HEAL.

It'sNathan's business--a hundred-and-fifty--withcostshundred-and-seventy.  Please send me my desk andsomeCLOTHS--I'm in pumps and a white tye (somethinglike MissM's stockings)--I've seventy in it.  And assoon asyou get thisDrive to Nathan's--offer himseventy-fivedownand ASK HIM TO RENEW--say I'll takewine--wemay as well have some dinner sherry; but notPICTURSthey're too dear.

If hewon't stand it.  Take my ticker and such of yourthings asyou can SPAREand send them to Balls--wemustofcoarsehave the sum to-night.  It won't do tolet itstand overas to-morrow's Sunday; the beds hereare notvery CLEANand there may be other things outagainstme--I'm glad it an't Rawdon's Saturday forcominghome.  God bless you.

Yours inhasteR. C.P.S. Make haste and come.

Thislettersealed with a waferwas dispatched byone of themessengers who are always hanging aboutMr. Moss'sestablishmentand Rawdonhaving seen himdepartwent out in the court-yard and smoked his cigarwith atolerably easy mind--in spite of the barsoverhead--forMr. Moss's court-yard is railed in like a cagelest thegentlemen who are boarding with him shouldtake afancy to escape from his hospitality.

Threehourshe calculatedwould be the utmost timerequiredbefore Becky should arrive and open his prisondoorsandhe passed these pretty cheerfully in smokingin readingthe paperand in the coffee-room with anacquaintanceCaptain Walkerwho happened to be thereand withwhom he cut for sixpences for some hourswithpretty equal luck on either side.

But theday passed away and no messenger returned--no Becky. Mr. Moss's tably-dy-hoty was served at theappointedhour of half-past fivewhen such of the gentlemenlodging inthe house as could afford to pay for thebanquetcame and partook of it in the splendid frontparlourbefore describedand with which Mr. Crawley'stemporarylodging communicatedwhen Miss M.  (MissHemasher papa called her) appeared without the curl-papers ofthe morningand Mrs. Hem did the honoursof a primeboiled leg of mutton and turnipsof whichtheColonel ate with a very faint appetite.  Asked whetherhe would"stand" a bottle of champagne for thecompanyhe consentedand the ladies drank to his 'ealthand Mr.Mossin the most polite manner"looked towardshim."

In themidst of this repasthoweverthe doorbell washeard--youngMoss of the ruddy hair rose up with thekeys andanswered the summonsand coming backtoldtheColonel that the messenger had returned with a baga desk anda letterwhich he gave him.  "No ceramonyColonelIbeg" said Mrs. Moss with a wave of herhandandhe opened the letter rather tremulously.  Itwas abeautiful letterhighly scentedon a pink paperand with alight green seal.

MON PAUVRECHER PETIT(Mrs. Crawley wrote)

I couldnot sleep ONE WINK for thinking of what hadbecome ofmy odious old monstreand only got to restin themorning after sending for Mr. Blench (for I wasin afever)who gave me a composing draught and leftorderswith Finette that I should be disturbed ON NOACCOUNT. So that my poor old man's messengerwho hadbienmauvaise mine Finette saysand sentoit le Genievreremainedin the hall for some hours waiting my bell.You mayfancy my state when I read your poor dearoldill-spelt letter.

Ill as IwasI instantly called for the carriageandas soon asI was dressed (though I couldn't drink a dropofchocolate--I assure you I couldn't without mymonstre tobring it to me)I drove ventre a terre toNathan's. I saw him--I wept--I cried--I fell at hi~odiousknees.  Nothing would mollify the horrid man.He wouldhave all the moneyhe saidor keep my poormonstre inprison.  I drove home with the intention ofpayingthat triste visite chez mon oncle (when everytrinket Ihave should be at your disposal though theywould notfetch a hundred poundsfor someyou knoware withce cher oncle already)and found Milor therewith theBulgarian old sheep-faced monsterwho hadcome tocompliment me upon last night's performances.Paddingtoncame intoodrawling and lisping andtwiddlinghis hair; so did Champignacand his chef--everybodywith foison of compliments and pretty speeches--plaguingpoor mewho longed to be rid of themandwasthinking every moment of the time of mon pauvreprisonnier.

When theywere goneI went down on my knees toMilor;told him we were going to pawn everythingandbegged andprayed him to give me two hundred pounds.He pish'dand psha'd in a fury--told me not to be sucha fool asto pawn--and said he would see whether hecould lendme the money.  At last he went awaypromisingthat he would send it me in the morning:  whenI willbring it to my poor old monster with a kiss frohisaffectionate

BECKYI amwriting in bed.  Oh I have such a headache andsuch aheartache!

WhenRawdon read over this letterhe turned so redand lookedso savage that the company at the tabled'hoteeasily perceived that bad news had reachedhim. All his suspicionswhich he had been trying tobanishreturned upon him.  She could not even go outand sellher trinkets to free him.  She could laugh andtalk aboutcompliments paid to herwhilst he was inprison. Who had put him there? Wenham had walkedwith him. Was there....  He could hardly bear to thinkof what hesuspected.  Leaving the room hurriedlyhe raninto hisown--opened his deskwrote two hurried lineswhich hedirected to Sir Pitt or Lady Crawleyandbade themessenger carry them at once to Gaunt Streetbiddinghim to take a caband promising him a guineaif he wasback in an hour.

In thenote he besought his dear brother and sisterfor thesake of Godfor the sake of his dear child andhishonourto come to him and relieve him from hisdifficulty. He was in prisonhe wanted a hundred poundsto set himfree--he entreated them to come to him.

He wentback to the dining-room after dispatching hismessengerand called for more wine.  He laughed andtalkedwith a strange boisterousnessas the peoplethought. Sometimes he laughed madly at his own fearsand wenton drinking for an hourlistening all the whilefor thecarriage which was to bring his fate back.

At theexpiration of that timewheels were heardwhirlingup to the gate--the young janitor went outwith hisgate-keys.  It was a lady whom he let in at thebailiff'sdoor.

"ColonelCrawley" she saidtrembling very much.  Hewith aknowing looklocked the outer door upon her--thenunlocked and opened the inner oneand calling out"Colonelyou're wanted" led her into the back parlourwhich heoccupied.

Rawdoncame in from the dining-parlour where allthosepeople were carousinginto his back room; a flareof coarselight following him into the apartment wherethe ladystoodstill very nervous.

"Itis IRawdon" she said in a timid voicewhichshe stroveto render cheerful.  "It is Jane." Rawdon wasquiteovercome by that kind voice and presence.  He ranup toher--caught her in his arms--gasped out someinarticulatewords of thanks and fairly sobbed on hershoulder. She did not know the cause of his emotion.

The billsof Mr. Moss were quickly settledperhapsto thedisappointment of that gentlemanwho had countedon havingthe Colonel as his guest over Sunday at least;and Janewith beaming smiles and happiness in her eyescarriedaway Rawdon from the bailiff's houseand theywenthomewards in the cab in which she had hastenedto hisrelease.  "Pitt was gone to a parliamentary dinner"she said"when Rawdon's note cameand sodearRawdonI--I came myself"; and she put her kind hand inhis. Perhaps it was well for Rawdon Crawley that Pittwas awayat that dinner.  Rawdon thanked his sister ahundredtimesand with an ardour of gratitude whichtouchedand almost alarmed that soft-hearted woman."Oh"said hein his rudeartless way"you--you don'tknow howI'm changed since I've known youand--andlittleRawdy.  I--I'd like to change somehow.  You seeI want--Iwant--to be--" He did- not finish thesentencebut she could interpret it.  And that night after heleft herand as she sat by her own little boy's bedsheprayedhumbly for that poor way-worn sinner.

Rawdonleft her and walked home rapidly.  It was nineo'clock atnight.  He ran across the streets and the greatsquares ofVanity Fairand at length came up breathlessoppositehis own house.  He started back and fell againsttherailingstrembling as he looked up.  The drawing-roomwindows were blazing with light.  She had said thatshe was inbed and ill.  He stood there for some timethe lightfrom the rooms on his pale face.

He tookout his door-key and let himself into thehouse. He could hear laughter in the upper rooms.  Hewas in theball-dress in which he had been captured thenightbefore.  He went silently up the stairsleaningagainstthe banisters at the stair-head.  Nobody wasstirringin the house besides--all the servants had been sentaway. Rawdon heard laughter within--laughter and singing.Becky wassinging a snatch of the song of the nightbefore; ahoarse voice shouted "Brava!  Brava!"--it wasLordSteyne's.

Rawdonopened the door and went in.  A little tablewith adinner was laid out--and wine and plate.  Steynewashanging over the sofa on which Becky sat.  Thewretchedwoman was in a brilliant full toiletteher armsand allher fingers sparkling with bracelets and ringsand thebrilliants on her breast which Steyne had givenher. He had her hand in hisand was bowing over itto kissitwhen Becky started up with a faint screamas shecaught sight of Rawdon's white face.  At the nextinstantshe tried a smilea horrid smileas if towelcomeher husband; and Steyne rose upgrindinghis teethpaleand with fury in his looks.

Hetooattempted a laugh--and came forward holdingout hishand.  "Whatcome back!  How d'ye doCrawley?"he saidthe nerves of his mouth twitching as hetried togrin at the intruder.

There wasthat in Rawdon's face which caused Beckyto flingherself before him.  "I am innocentRawdon"she said;"before GodI am innocent." She clung holdof hiscoatof his hands; her own were all covered withserpentsand ringsand baubles.  "I am innocent.  Say Iaminnocent" she said to Lord Steyne.

He thoughta trap had been laid for himand was asfuriouswith the wife as with the husband.  "Youinnocent! Damn you" he screamed out.  "You innocent!  Whyeverytrinket you have on your body is paid for by me.I havegiven you thousands of poundswhich this fellowhas spentand for which he has sold you.  Innocentby --! You're as innocent as your motherthe ballet-girlandyour husband the bully.  Don't think to frightenme as youhave done others.  Make waysirand let mepass";and Lord Steyne seized up his hatandwithflame inhis eyesand looking his enemy fiercely in thefacemarched upon himnever for a moment doubtingthat theother would give way.

But RawdonCrawley springing outseized him by theneckclothuntil Steynealmost strangledwrithed andbent underhis arm.  "You lieyou dog!" said Rawdon."Youlieyou coward and villain!" And he struck thePeer twiceover the face with his open hand and flunghimbleeding to the ground.  It was all done beforeRebeccacould interpose.  She stood there trembling beforehim. She admired her husbandstrongbraveandvictorious.

"Comehere" he said.  She came up at once.

"Takeoff those things." She begantremblingpullingthe jewelsfrom her armsand the rings from her shakingfingersand held them all in a heapquivering and lookingup athim.  "Throw them down" he saidand shedroppedthem.  He tore the diamond ornament out of herbreast andflung it at Lord Steyne.  It cut him on hisbaldforehead.  Steyne wore the scar to his dying day.

"Comeupstairs" Rawdon said to his wife.  "Don't killmeRawdon" she said.  He laughed savagely.  "I wantto see ifthat man lies about the money as he has aboutme. Has he given you any?"

"No"said Rebecca"that is--"

"Giveme your keys" Rawdon answeredand theywent outtogether.

Rebeccagave him all the keys but oneand she was inhopes thathe would not have remarked the absence ofthat. It belonged to the little desk which Amelia hadgiven herin early daysand which she kept in a secretplace. But Rawdon flung open boxes and wardrobesthrowingthe multifarious trumpery of their contents hereand thereand at last he found the desk.  The woman wasforced toopen it.  It contained paperslove-letters manyyearsold--all sorts of small trinkets and woman'smemoranda. And it contained a pocket-book with bank-notes.Some ofthese were dated ten years backtooand onewas quitea fresh one--a note for a thousand poundswhich LordSteyne had given her.

"Didhe give you this?" Rawdon said.

"Yes"Rebecca answered.

"I'llsend it to him to-day" Rawdon said (for day haddawnedagainand many hours had passed in this search)"andI will pay Briggswho was kind to the boyandsome ofthe debts.  You will let me know where I shallsend therest to you.  You might have spared me ahundredpoundsBeckyout of all this--I have alwayssharedwith you."

"I aminnocent" said Becky.  And he left her withoutanotherword.

What wereher thoughts when he left her? Sheremainedfor hours after he was gonethe sunshinepouringinto the roomand Rebecca sitting alone on thebed'sedge.  The drawers were all opened and their contentsscatteredabout--dresses and feathersscarfs and trinketsa heap oftumbled vanities lying in a wreck.  Her hairwasfalling over her shoulders; her gown was torn whereRawdon hadwrenched the brilliants out of it.  She heardhim godownstairs a few minutes after he left herandthe doorslamming and closing on him.  She knew hewouldnever come back.  He was gone forever.  Wouldhe killhimself?--she thought--not until after he hadmet LordSteyne.  She thought of her long past lifeandall thedismal incidents of it.  Ahhow dreary it seemedhowmiserablelonely and profitless!  Should she takelaudanumand end itto have done with all hopesschemesdebtsand triumphs? The French maid foundher inthis position--sitting in the midst of her miserableruins withclasped hands and dry eyes.  The woman washeraccomplice and in Steyne's pay.  "Mon Dieumadamewhat has happened?" she asked.

What hadhappened? Was she guilty or not? She saidnotbutwho could tell what was truth which came fromthoselipsor if that corrupt heart was in this case pure?

All herlies and her schemesan her selfishness and herwilesallher wit and genius had come to thisbankruptcy. The woman closed the curtains andwith someentreatyand show of kindnesspersuaded her mistressto liedown on the bed.  Then she went below andgatheredup the trinkets which had been lying on the floorsinceRebecca dropped them there at her husband'sordersand Lord Steyne went away.

CHAPTERLIVSundayAfter the Battle

Themansion of Sir Pitt Crawleyin Great Gaunt Streetwas justbeginning to dress itself for the dayas Rawdonin hisevening costumewhich he had now worntwo dayspassed by the scared female who was scouringthe stepsand entered into his brother's study.  LadyJaneinher morning-gownwas up and above stairs inthenursery superintending the toilettes of her childrenandlistening to the morning prayers which the littlecreaturesperformed at her knee.  Every morning she andtheyperformed this duty privatelyand before the publicceremonialat which Sir Pitt presided and at which all thepeople ofthe household were expected to assemble.Rawdon satdown in the study before the Baronet's tableset outwith the orderly blue books and the letterstheneatlydocketed bills and symmetrical pamphletsthelockedaccount-booksdesksand dispatch boxestheBibletheQuarterly Reviewand the Court Guidewhichall stoodas if on parade awaiting the inspection of theirchief.

A book offamily sermonsone of which Sir Pitt wasin thehabit of administering to his family on Sundaymorningslay ready on the study tableand awaiting hisjudiciousselection.  And by the sermon-book was theObservernewspaperdamp and neatly foldedand forSir Pitt'sown private use.  His gentleman alone took theopportunityof perusing the newspaper before he laid itby hismaster's desk.  Before he had brought it into thestudy thatmorninghe had read in the journal a flamingaccount of"Festivities at Gaunt House" with the namesof all thedistinguished personages invited by tho Marquisof Steyneto meet his Royal Highness.  Having madecommentsupon this entertainment to the housekeeperand herniece as they were taking early tea and hotbutteredtoast in the former lady's apartmentandwonderedhow the Rawding Crawleys could git onthe valethad dampedand folded the paper once moreso that itlookedquite fresh and innocent against the arrival ofthe masterof the house.

PoorRawdon took up the paper and began to try andread ituntil his brother should arrive.  But the print fellblank uponhis eyesand he did not know in the leastwhat hewas reading.  The Government news andappointments(which Sir Pitt as a public man was boundto peruseotherwise he would by no means permit theintroductionof Sunday papers into his household)thetheatricalcriticismsthe fight for a hundred poundsa sidebetween the Barking Butcher and the TutburyPettheGaunt House chronicle itselfwhich contained amostcomplimentary though guarded account of thefamouscharades of which Mrs. Becky had been theheroine--allthese passed as in a haze before Rawdonas hesatwaiting the arrival of the chief of the family.

Punctuallyas the shrill-toned bell of the black marblestudyclock began to chime nineSir Pitt made hisappearancefreshneatsmugly shavedwith a waxy cleanfaceandstiff shirt collarhis scanty hair combed andoiledtrimming his nails as he descended the stairsmajesticallyin a starched cravat and a grey flanneldressing-gown--areal old English gentlemanin a word--a model ofneatness and every propriety.  He started whenhe sawpoor Rawdon in his study in tumbled clotheswithblood-shoteyesand his hair over his face.  He thoughthisbrother was not soberand had been out all night onsomeorgy.  "Good graciousRawdon" he saidwith ablankface"what brings you here at this time of themorning?Why ain't you at home?"

"Home"said Rawdon with a wild laugh.  "Don't befrightenedPitt.  I'm not drunk.  Shut the door; I want tospeak toyou."

Pittclosed the door and came up to the tablewherehe satdown in the other arm-chair--that one placed forthereception of the stewardagentor confidentialvisitorwho came to transact business with the Baronet--andtrimmed his nails more vehemently than ever.

"Pittit's all over with me" the Colonel said after apause. "I'm done."

"Ialways said it would come to this" the Baronetcriedpeevishlyand beating a tune with his clean-trimmednails.  "I warned you a thousand times.  I can'thelp youany more.  Every shilling of my money is tiedup. Even the hundred pounds that Jane took you lastnight werepromised to my lawyer to-morrow morningand thewant of it will put me to great inconvenience.I don'tmean to say that I won't assist you ultimately.But as forpaying your creditors in fullI might as wellhope topay the National Debt.  It is madnesssheermadnessto think of such a thing.  You must come to acompromise. It's a painful thing for the familybut everybodydoes it. There was George KitelyLord Ragland's sonwentthrough the Court last weekand was what theycallwhitewashedI believe.  Lord Ragland would not paya shillingfor himand--"

"It'snot money I want" Rawdon broke in.  "I'm notcome toyou about myself.  Never mind what happens tome "

"Whatis the matterthen?" said Pittsomewhatrelieved.

"It'sthe boy" said Rawdon in a husky voice.  "I wantyou topromise me that you will take charge of himwhen I'mgone.  That dear good wife of yours has alwaysbeen goodto him; and he's fonder of her than he is ofhis . .  .--Damn it.  Look herePitt--you know that Iwas tohave had Miss Crawley's money.  I wasn't broughtup like ayounger brotherbut was always encouraged tobeextravagant and kep idle.  But for this I might havebeen quitea different man.  I didn't do my duty with theregimentso bad.  You know how I was thrown overabout themoneyand who got it."

"Afterthe sacrifices I have madeand the manner inwhich Ihave stood by youI think this sort of reproachisuseless" Sir Pitt said.  "Your marriage was your owndoingnotmine."

"That'sover now" said Rawdon.  "That's over now."And thewords were wrenched from him with a groanwhich madehis brother start.

"GoodGod!  is she dead?" Sir Pitt said with a voiceof genuinealarm and commiseration.

"Iwish I was" Rawdon replied.  "If it wasn't for littleRawdon I'dhave cut my throat this morning--and thatdamnedvillain's too."

Sir Pittinstantly guessed the truth and surmised thatLordSteyne was the person whose life Rawdon wished totake. The Colonel told his senior brieflyand in brokenaccentsthe circumstances of the case.  "It was a regularplanbetween that scoundrel and her" he said.  "Thebailiffswere put upon me; I was taken as I was goingout of hishouse; when I wrote to her for moneyshesaid shewas ill in bed and put me off to another day.And when Igot home I found her in diamonds andsittingwith that villain alone." He then went on to describehurriedlythe personal conflict with Lord Steyne.  To anaffair ofthat natureof coursehe saidthere was butone issueand after his conference with his brotherhewas goingaway to make the necessary arrangements forthemeeting which must ensue.  "And as it may endfatallywith me" Rawdon said with a broken voice"andas the boyhas no motherI must leave him to you andJanePitt--only it will be a comfort to me if you willpromise meto be his friend."

The elderbrother was much affectedand shookRawdon'shand with a cordiality seldom exhibited by him.Rawdonpassed his hand over his shaggy eyebrows."Thankyoubrother" said he.  "I know I can trust yourword."

"Iwillupon my honour" the Baronet said.  And thusand almostmutelythis bargain was struck betweenthem.

ThenRawdon took out of his pocket the littlepocket-bookwhich he had discovered in Becky's deskand fromwhich hedrew a bundle of the notes which it contained."Here'ssix hundred" he said--"you didn't know I wasso rich. I want you to give the money to Briggswho lentit tous--and who was kind to the boy--and I've alwaysfeltashamed of having taken the poor old woman'smoney. And here's some more--I've only kept back afewpounds--which Becky may as well haveto get onwith."As he spoke he took hold of the other notes togive tohis brotherbut his hands shookand he was soagitatedthat the pocket-book fell from himand out ofit thethousand-pound note which had been the last oftheunlucky Becky's winnings.

Pittstooped and picked them upamazed at so muchwealth. "Not that" Rawdon said.  "I hope to put a bulletinto theman whom that belongs to." He had thought tohimselfit would be a fine revenge to wrap a ball in thenote andkill Steyne with it.

After thiscolloquy the brothers once more shookhands andparted.  Lady Jane had heard of the Colonel'sarrivaland was waiting for her husband in the adjoiningdining-roomwith female instinctauguring evil.  Thedoor ofthe dining-room happened to be left openandthe ladyof course was issuing from it as the two brotherspassed outof the study.  She held out her hand toRawdon andsaid she was glad he was come to breakfastthough shecould perceiveby his haggard unshorn faceand thedark looks of her husbandthat there was verylittlequestion of breakfast between them.  Rawdonmutteredsome excuses about an engagementsqueezing hardthe timidlittle hand which his sister-in-law reached outto him. Her imploring eyes could read nothing butcalamityin his facebut he went away without anotherword. Nor did Sir Pitt vouchsafe her any explanation.Thechildren came up to salute himand he kissed themin hisusual frigid manner.  The mother took both of themclose toherselfand held a hand of each of them as theyknelt downto prayerswhich Sir Pitt read to themandto theservants in their Sunday suits or liveriesrangeduponchairs on the other side of the hissing tea-urn.Breakfastwas so late that dayin consequence of thedelayswhich had occurredthat the church-bells beganto ringwhilst they were sitting over their meal; andLady Janewas too illshe saidto go to churchthoughherthoughts had been entirely astray during the periodof familydevotion.

RawdonCrawley meanwhile hurried on from GreatGauntStreetand knocking at the great bronzeMedusa'shead which stands on the portal of Gaunt Housebroughtout the purple Silenus in a red and silverwaistcoatwho acts as porter of that palace.  The man wasscaredalso by the Colonel's dishevelled appearanceandbarred theway as if afraid that the other was going toforce it. But Colonel Crawley only took out a card andenjoinedhim particularly to send it in to Lord Steyneand tomark the address written on itand say thatColonelCrawley would be all day after one o'clock at theRegentClub in St.  James's Street--not at home.  The fatred-facedman looked after him with astonishment as hestrodeaway; so did the people in their Sunday clotheswho wereout so early; the charity-boys with shiningfacesthegreengrocer lolling at his doorand the publicanshuttinghis shutters in the sunshineagainst servicecommenced. The people joked at the cab-stand abouthisappearanceas he took a carriage thereand told thedriver todrive him to Knightsbridge Barracks.

All thebells were jangling and tolling as he reachedthatplace.  He might have seen his old acquaintanceAmelia onher way from Brompton to Russell Squarehad hebeen looking out.  Troops of schools were ontheirmarch to churchthe shiny pavement and outsidesof coachesin the suburbs were thronged with people outupon theirSunday pleasure; but the Colonel was muchtoo busyto take any heed of these phenomenaandarrivingat Knightsbridgespeedily made his way up to theroom ofhis old friend and comrade Captain MacmurdowhoCrawley foundto his satisfactionwas in barracks.

CaptainMacmurdoa veteran officer and Waterloomangreatly liked by his regimentin which want ofmoneyalone prevented him from attaining the highestrankswasenjoying the forenoon calmly in bed.  He hadbeen at afast supper-partygiven the night before byCaptainthe Honourable George Cinqbarsat his houseinBrompton Squareto several young men of theregimentand a number of ladies of the corps de balletandold Macwho was at home with people of all ages andranksandconsorted with generalsdog-fanciersopera-dancersbruisersand every kind of personin a wordwasresting himself after the night's laboursandnotbeing ondutywas in bed.

His roomwas hung round with boxingsportinganddancingpicturespresented to him by comrades as theyretiredfrom the regimentand married and settled intoquietlife.  And as he was now nearly fifty years of agetwenty-fourof which he had passed in the corpshe hada singularmuseum.  He was one of the best shots inEnglandandfor a heavy manone of the best riders;indeedheand Crawley had been rivals when the latterwas in theArmy.  To be briefMr. Macmurdo was lyingin bedreading in Bell's Life an account of that veryfightbetween the Tutbury Pet and the Barking Butcherwhich hasbeen before mentioned--a venerable bristlywarriorwith a little close-shaved grey headwith a silknightcapa red face and noseand a great dyedmoustache.

WhenRawdon told the Captain he wanted a friendthelatterknew perfectly well on what duty of friendship hewas calledto actand indeed had conducted scores ofaffairsfor his acquaintances with the greatest prudenceandskill.  His Royal Highness the late lamentedCommander-in-Chiefhad had the greatest regard forMacmurdoon this accountand he was the common refugeofgentlemen in trouble.

"What'sthe row aboutCrawleymy boy?" said theoldwarrior.  "No more gambling businesshaylike thatwhen weshot Captain Marker?"

"It'sabout--about my wife" Crawley answeredcastingdown his eyes and turning very red.

The othergave a whistle.  "I always said she'd throwyou over"he began--indeed there were bets in theregimentand at the clubs regarding the probable fate ofColonelCrawleyso lightly was his wife's characteresteemedby his comrades and the world; but seeing thesavagelook with which Rawdon answered the expressionof thisopinionMacmurdo did not think fit to enlargeupon itfurther.

"Isthere no way out of itold boy?" the Captaincontinuedin a grave tone.  "Is it only suspicionyou knowor--orwhat is it? Any letters? Can't you keep it quiet?Best notmake any noise about a thing of that sort if youcan helpit." "Think of his only finding her out now" theCaptainthought to himselfand remembered a hundredparticularconversations at the mess-tablein which Mrs.Crawley'sreputation had been torn to shreds.

"There'sno way but one out of it" Rawdon replied--"andthere's only a way out of it for one of usMac--doyouunderstand? I was put out of the way--arrested--Ifound 'emalone together.  I told him he was a liar and acowardand knocked him down and thrashed him."

"Servehim right" Macmurdo said.  "Who is it?"

Rawdonanswered it was Lord Steyne.

"Thedeuce!  a Marquis!  they said he--that istheysaidyou--"

"Whatthe devil do you mean?" roared out Rawdon;"doyou mean that you ever heard a fellow doubt aboutmy wifeand didn't tell meMac?"

"Theworld's very censoriousold boy" the otherreplied. "What the deuce was the good of my telling youwhat anytom-fools talked about?"

"Itwas damned unfriendlyMac" said Rawdonquiteovercome;andcovering his face with his handshe gaveway to anemotionthe sight of which caused the tougholdcampaigner opposite him to wince with sympathy."Holdupold boy" he said; "great man or notwe'll puta bulletin himdamn him.  As for womenthey're all so."

"Youdon't know how fond I was of that one"Rawdonsaidhalf-inarticulately.  "DammeI followed her likeafootman.  I gave up everything I had to her.  I'm abeggarbecause I would marry her.  By JovesirI've pawnedmy ownwatch in order to get her anything she fancied;and sheshe's been making a purse for herself all thetimeandgrudged me a hundred pound to get me out ofquod."He then fiercely and incoherentlyand with anagitationunder which his counsellor had never beforeseen himlabourtold Macmurdo the circumstances ofthe story. His adviser caught at some stray hints in it."Shemay be innocentafter all" he said.  "She saysso. Steyne has been a hundred times alone with her inthe housebefore."

"Itmay be so" Rawdon answered sadly"but this don'tlook veryinnocent":  and he showed the Captain thethousand-poundnote which he had found in Becky'spocket-book. "This is what he gave herMacand shekep itunknown to me; and with this money in the housesherefused to stand by me when I was locked up." TheCaptaincould not but own that the secreting of themoney hada very ugly look.

Whilstthey were engaged in their conferenceRawdondispatchedCaptain Macmurdo's servant to Curzon Streetwith anorder to the domestic there to give up a bag ofclothes ofwhich the Colonel had great need.  And duringthe man'sabsenceand with great labour and a Johnson'sDictionarywhich stood them in much steadRawdonand hissecond composed a letterwhich the latterwas tosend to Lord Steyne.  Captain Macmurdo had thehonour ofwaiting upon the Marquis of Steyneon the partof ColonelRawdon Crawleyand begged to intimate thathe wasempowered by the Colonel to make any arrangementsfor themeeting whichhe had no doubtit was hisLordship'sintention to demandand which the circumstancesof themorning had rendered inevitable.  CaptainMacmurdobegged Lord Steynein the most politemannertoappoint a friendwith whom he (Captain M'M.)mightcommunicateand desired that the meeting mighttake placewith as little delay as possible.

In apostscript the Captain stated that he had in hispossessiona bank-note for a large amountwhichColonelCrawley had reason to suppose was the property oftheMarquis of Steyne.  And he was anxiouson theColonel'sbehalfto give up the note to its owner.

By thetime this note was composedthe Captain'sservantreturned from his mission to Colonel Crawley'shouse inCurzon Streetbut without the carpet-bag andportmanteaufor which he had been sentand with averypuzzled and odd face.

"Theywon't give 'em up" said the man; "there's aregularshinty in the houseand everything at sixes andsevens. The landlord's come in and took possession.  Theservantswas a drinkin' up in the drawingroom.  Theysaid--theysaid you had gone off with the plateColonel"--theman added after a pause--"One of theservantsis off already.  And Simpsonthe man as was verynoisy anddrunk indeedsays nothing shall go out of thehouseuntil his wages is paid up."

Theaccount of this little revolution in May Fairastonishedand gave a little gaiety to an otherwise verytristeconversation.  The two officers laughed at Rawdon'sdiscomfiture.

"I'mglad the little 'un isn't at home" Rawdon saidbiting hisnails.  "You remember himMacdon't youinthe RidingSchool? How he sat the kicker to be sure!didn'the?"

"Thathe didold boy" said the good-natured Captain.

LittleRawdon was then sittingone of fifty gown boysin theChapel of Whitefriars Schoolthinkingnot aboutthesermonbut about going home next Saturdaywhenhis fatherwould certainly tip him and perhaps wouldtake himto the play.

"He'sa regular trumpthat boy" the father went onstillmusing about his son.  "I sayMacif anything goeswrong--ifI drop--I should like you to--to go and seehimyouknowand say that I was very fond of himandthat. And--dash it--old chapgive him these gold sleeve-buttons: it's all I've got." He covered his face with hisblackhandsover which the tears rolled and madefurrows ofwhite.  Mr. Macmurdo had also occasion to takeoff hissilk night-cap and rub it across his eyes.

"Godown and order some breakfast" he said to hisman in aloud cheerful voice.  "What'll you haveCrawley?Somedevilled kidneys and a herring--let's say.  AndClaylayout some dressing things for the Colonel:  wewerealways pretty much of a sizeRawdonmy boyandneither ofus ride so light as we did when we firstenteredthe corps." With whichand leaving the Colonel todresshimselfMacmurdo turned round towards the wallandresumed the perusal of Bell's Lifeuntil such time ashisfriend's toilette was complete and he was at libertytocommence his own.

Thisashe was about to meet a lordCaptainMacmurdoperformed with particular care.  He waxed hismustachiosinto a state of brilliant polish and put on atightcravat and a trim buff waistcoatso that all theyoungofficers in the mess-roomwhither Crawley hadprecededhis friendcomplimented Mac on his appearanceatbreakfast and asked if he was going to be marriedthatSunday.

CHAPIER LVInWhich the Same Subject is Pursued

Becky didnot rally from the state of stupor and confusionin whichthe events of the previous night had plungedherintrepid spirit until the bells of the Curzon StreetChapelswere ringing for afternoon serviceand risingfrom herbed she began to ply her own bellin order tosummon theFrench maid who had left her some hoursbefore.

Mrs.Rawdon Crawley rang many times in vain; andthoughonthe last occasionshe rang with suchvehemenceas to pull down the bell-ropeMademoiselleFifine didnot make her appearance--nonot though hermistressin a great petand with the bell-rope in her handcame outto the landing-place with her hair over hershouldersand screamed out repeatedly for her attendant.

The truthisshe had quitted the premises for manyhoursandupon that permission which is called Frenchleaveamong us After picking up the trinkets in thedrawing-roomMademoiselle had ascended to her ownapartmentspacked and corded her own boxes theretrippedout and called a cab for herselfbrought downher trunkswith her own handand without ever so muchas askingthe aid of any of the other servantswho wouldprobablyhave refused itas they hated her cordiallyandwithout wishing any one of them good-byehadmade herexit from Curzon Street.

The gamein her opinionwas over in that littledomesticestablishment.  Fifine went off in a cabas wehave knownmore exalted persons of her nation to doundersimilar circumstances:  butmore provident orlucky thantheseshe secured not only her own propertybut someof her mistress's (if indeed that lady could besaid tohave any property at all)--and not only carriedoff thetrinkets before alluded toand some favouritedresses onwhich she had long kept her eyebut fourrichlygilt Louis Quatorze candlestickssix gilt albumskeepsakesand Books of Beautya gold enamelledsnuff-boxwhich had once belonged to Madame du Barriandthesweetest little inkstand and mother-of-pearl blottingbookwhich Becky used when she composed her charminglittlepink noteshad vanished from the premises inCurzonStreet together with Mademoiselle Fifineand allthe silverlaid on the table for the little festin whichRawdoninterrupted.  The plated ware Mademoiselle leftbehind herwas too cumbrousprobably for whichreasonnodoubtshe also left the fire ironsthechimney-glassesand the rosewood cottage piano.

A ladyvery like her subsequently kept a milliner'sshop inthe Rue du Helder at Pariswhere she lived withgreatcredit and enjoyed the patronage of my LordSteyne. This person always spoke of England as of themosttreacherous country in the worldand stated to heryoungpupils that she had been affreusement vole bynatives ofthat island.  It was no doubt compassion forhermisfortunes which induced the Marquis of Steyne tobe so verykind to Madame de Saint-Amaranthe.  Maysheflourish as she deserves--she appears no more in ourquarter ofVanity Fair.

Hearing abuzz and a stir belowand indignant at theimpudenceof those servants who would not answer hersummonsMrs. Crawley flung her morning robe roundher anddescended majestically to the drawing-roomwhence thenoise proceeded.

The cookwas there with blackened faceseated on thebeautifulchintz sofa by the side of Mrs. Ragglesto whomshe wasadministering Maraschino.  The page with thesugar-loafbuttonswho carried about Becky's pinknotesandjumped about her little carriage with suchalacritywas now engaged putting his fingers into acreamdish; the footman was talking to Raggleswhohad a facefull of perplexity and woe--and yetthoughthe doorwas openand Becky had been screaming ahalf-dozenof times a few feet offnot one of herattendantshad obeyed her call.  "Have a little dropdo'eenowMrs.Raggles" the cook was saying as Beckyenteredthe white cashmere dressing-gown flouncingaroundher.

"Simpson! Trotter!" the mistress of the house cried ingreatwrath.  "How dare you stay here when you heardme call?How dare you sit down in my presence? Where'smy maid?"The page withdrew his fingers from his mouthwith amomentary terrorbut the cook took off a glassofMaraschinoof which Mrs. Raggles had had enoughstaring atBecky over the little gilt glass as she draineditscontents.  The liquor appeared to give the odious rebelcourage.

"YOURsofyindeed!" Mrs. Cook said.  "I'm a settin' onMrs.Raggles's sofy.  Don't you stirMrs. RagglesMum.I'm asettin' on Mr. and Mrs. Raggles's sofywhich theyboughtwith honest moneyand very dear it cost 'emtoo. And I'm thinkin' if I set here until I'm paid mywagesIshall set a precious long timeMrs. Raggles;and set Iwilltoo--ha!  ha!" and with this she filledherselfanother glass of the liquor and drank it with a morehideouslysatirical air.

"Trotter! Simpson!  turn that drunken wretch out"screamedMrs. Crawley.

"Ishawn't" said Trotter the footman; "turn outyourself. Pay our selleriesand turn me out too.  WE'LLgo fastenough."

"Areyou all here to insult me?" cried Becky in a fury;"whenColonel Crawley comes home I'll--"

At thisthe servants burst into a horse haw-hawinwhichhoweverRaggleswho still kept a most melancholycountenancedid not join.  "He ain't a coming back"Mr.Trotter resumed.  "He sent for his thingsand Iwouldn'tlet 'em goalthough Mr. Raggles would; and Idon'tb'lieve he's no more a Colonel than I am.  He'shoffandI suppose you're a goin' after him.  You're nobetterthan swindlersboth on you.  Don't be a bullyin'ME. I won't stand it.  Pay us our selleriesI say.  Pay usourselleries." It was evidentfrom Mr. Trotter's flushedcountenanceand defective intonationthat hetoohadhadrecourse to vinous stimulus.

"Mr.Raggles" said Becky in a passion of vexation"youwill not surely let me be insulted by that drunkenman?""Hold your noiseTrotter; do now" said Simpsonthe page. He was affected by his mistress's deplorablesituationand succeeded in preventing an outrageousdenial ofthe epithet "drunken" on the footman's part.

"OhM'am" said Raggles"I never thought to live tosee thisyear day:  I've known the Crawley family eversince Iwas born.  I lived butler with Miss Crawley forthirtyyears; and I little thought one of that family wasa goin' toruing me--yesruing me"--said the poor fellowwith tearsin his eyes.  "Har you a goin' to pay me? You'velived inthis 'ouse four year.  You've 'ad my substance:my plateand linning.  You ho me a milk and butter billof two'undred poundyou must 'ave noo laid heggs foryourhomletsand cream for your spanil dog."

"Shedidn't care what her own flesh and blood had"interposedthe cook.  "Many's the timehe'd have starvedbut forme."

"He'sa charaty-boy nowCooky" said Mr. Trotterwith adrunken "ha!  ha!"--and honest Raggles continuedin alamentable tonean enumeration of his griefs.  All hesaid wastrue.  Becky and her husband had ruined him.He hadbills coming due next week and no means to meetthem. He would be sold up and turned out of his shopand hishousebecause he had trusted to the Crawleyfamily. His tears and lamentations made Becky morepeevishthan ever.

"Youall seem to be against me" she said bitterly."Whatdo you want? I can't pay you on Sunday.  Comebackto-morrow and I'll pay you everything.  I thoughtColonelCrawley had settled with you.  He will to-morrow.I declareto you upon my honour that he left home thismorningwith fifteen hundred pounds in his pocket-book.He hasleft me nothing.  Apply to him.  Give me a bonnetand shawland let me go out and find him.  There was adifferencebetween us this morning.  You all seem toknow it. I promise you upon my word that you shall allbe paid. He has got a good appointment.  Let me go outand findhim.''

Thisaudacious statement caused Raggles and the otherpersonagespresent to look at one another with a wildsurpriseand with it Rebecca left them.  She went upstairsanddressed herself this time without the aid of her Frenchmaid. She went into Rawdon's roomand there saw thata trunkand bag were packed ready for removalwith apencildirection that they should be given when calledfor; thenshe went into the Frenchwoman's garret;everythingwas cleanand all the drawers emptied there.Shebethought herself of the trinkets which had been left onthe groundand felt certain that the woman had fled."GoodHeavens!  was ever such ill luck as mine?" shesaid; "tobe so nearand to lose all.  Is it all too late?"No; therewas one chance more.

Shedressed herself and went away unmolested thistimebutalone.  It was four o'clock.  She went swiftlydown thestreets (she had no money to pay for acarriage)and never stopped until she came to Sir PittCrawley'sdoorin Great Gaunt Street.  Where was LadyJaneCrawley? She was at church.  Becky was not sorry.Sir Pittwas in his studyand had given orders not to bedisturbed--shemust see him--she slipped by the sentinelin liveryat onceand was in Sir Pitt's room before theastonishedBaronet had even laid down the paper.

He turnedred and started back from her with a lookof greatalarm and horror.

"Donot look so" she said.  "I am not guiltyPittdearPitt; youwere my friend once.  Before GodI am notguilty. I seem so.  Everything is against me.  And oh!  atsuch amoment!  just when all my hopes were about to berealized: just when happiness was in store for us."

"Isthis truewhat I see in the paper then?" Sir Pittsaid--aparagraph in which had greatly surprised him.

"Itis true.  Lord Steyne told me on Friday nightthenight ofthat fatal ball.  He has been promised anappointmentany time these six months.  Mr. MartyrtheColonialSecretarytold him yesterday that it was made out.Thatunlucky arrest ensued; that horrible meeting.  I was onlyguilty oftoo much devotedness to Rawdon's service.  Ihavereceived Lord Steyne alone a hundred times before.I confessI had money of which Rawdon knew nothing.Don't youknow how careless he is of itand could I dareto confideit to him?" And so she went on with aperfectlyconnected storywhich she poured into the earsof herperplexed kinsman.

It was tothe following effect.  Becky ownedand withprefectfranknessbut deep contritionthat havingremarkedLord Steyne's partiality for her (at the mentionof whichPitt blushed)and being secure of her ownvirtueshe had determined to turn the great peer'sattachmentto the advantage of herself and her family.  "Ilooked fora peerage for youPitt" she said (the brother-in-lawagain turned red).  "We have talked about it.  Yourgenius andLord Steyne's interest made it more thanprobablehad not this dreadful calamity come to put anend to allour hopes.  ButfirstI own that it was myobject torescue my dear husband--him whom I love inspite ofall his ill usage and suspicions of me--to removehim fromthe poverty and ruin which was impending overus. I saw Lord Steyne's partiality for me" she saidcastingdown her eyes.  "I own that I did everything inmy powerto make myself pleasing to himand as far asan honestwoman mayto secure his--his esteem.  It wasonly onFriday morning that the news arrived of thedeath ofthe Governor of Coventry Islandand my Lordinstantlysecured the appointment for my dear husband.It wasintended as a surprise for him--he was to see it inthe papersto-day.  Even after that horrid arrest tookplace (theexpenses of which Lord Steyne generouslysaid hewould settleso that I was in a manner preventedfromcoming to my husband's assistance)my Lord waslaughingwith meand saying that my dearest Rawdonwould beconsoled when he read of his appointment inthe paperin that shocking spun--bailiff's house.  Andthen--thenhe came home.  His suspicions were excited--thedreadful scene took place between my Lord andmy cruelcruel Rawdon--andO my Godwhat willhappennext? Pittdear Pitt!  pity meand reconcile us!"And as shespoke she flung herself down on her kneesandbursting into tearsseized hold of Pitt's handwhichshe kissedpassionately.

It was inthis very attitude that Lady Janewhoreturningfrom churchran to her husband's room directlyshe heardMrs. Rawdon Crawley was closeted therefound theBaronet and his sister-in-law.

"I amsurprised that woman has the audacity to enterthishouse" Lady Jane saidtrembling in every limbandturning quite pale.  (Her Ladyship had sent out hermaiddirectly after breakfastwho had communicatedwithRaggles and Rawdon Crawley's householdwho hadtold heralland a great deal more than they knewofthatstoryand many others besides).  "How dare Mrs.Crawley toenter the house of--of an honest family?"

Sir Pittstarted backamazed at his wife's display ofvigour. Becky still kept her kneeling posture and clungto SirPitt's hand.

"Tellher that she does not know all:  Tell her that Iaminnocentdear Pitt" she whimpered out.

"Upon-mywordmy loveI think you do Mrs. Crawleyinjustice"Sir Pitt said; at which speech Rebecca wasvastlyrelieved.  "Indeed I believe her to be--"

"Tobe what?" cried out Lady Janeher clear voicethrillingandher heart beating violently as she spoke."Tobe a wicked woman--a heartless mothera falsewife? Shenever loved her dear little boywho used tofly hereand tell me of her cruelty to him.  She nevercame intoa family but she strove to bring misery withher and toweaken the most sacred affections with herwickedflattery and falsehoods.  She has deceived herhusbandas she has deceived everybody; her soul is blackwithvanityworldlinessand all sorts of crime.  I tremblewhen Itouch her.  I keep my children out of her sight.

"LadyJane!" cried Sir Pittstarting up"this is reallylanguage--"

"Ihave been a true and faithful wife to youSirPitt"Lady Jane continuedintrepidly; "I have kept mymarriagevow as I made it to God and have beenobedientand gentle as a wife should.  But righteousobediencehas its limitsand I declare that I will not bearthat--thatwoman again under my roof; if she enters itI and mychildren will leave it.  She is not worthy to sitdown withChristian people.  You--you must choosesirbetweenher and me"; and with this my Lady swept outof theroomfluttering with her own audacityand leavingRebeccaand Sir Pitt not a little astonished at it.

As forBeckyshe was not hurt; nayshe was pleased."Itwas the diamond-clasp you gave me" she said to SirPittreaching him out her hand; and before she left him(for whichevent you may be sure my Lady Jane waslookingout from her dressing-room window in the upperstory) theBaronet had promised to go and seek out hisbrotherand endeavour to bring about a reconciliation.

Rawdonfound some of the young fellows of the regimentseated inthe mess-room at breakfastand wasinducedwithout much difficulty to partake of that mealand of thedevilled legs of fowls and soda-water withwhichthese young gentlemen fortified themselves.  Thenthey had aconversation befitting the day and their timeof life: about the next pigeon-match at Batterseawithrelativebets upon Ross and Osbaldiston; aboutMademoiselleAriane of the French Operaand who had leftherandhow she was consoled by Panther Carr; andabout thefight between the Butcher and the Petand theprobabilitiesthat it was a cross.  Young Tandymanahero ofseventeenlaboriously endeavouring to get up apair ofmustachioshad seen the fightand spoke in themostscientific manner about the battle and the conditionof themen.  It was he who had driven the Butcher on tothe groundin his drag and passed the whole of thepreviousnight with him.  Had there not been foul playhe musthave won it.  All the old files of the Ring were init; andTandyman wouldn't pay; nodammyhe wouldn'tpay. It was but a year since the young Cornetnow soknowing ahand in Cribb's parlourhad a still lingeringliking fortoffyand used to be birched at Eton.

So theywent on talking about dancersfightsdrinkingdemirepsuntil Macmurdo came down and joined theboys andthe conversation.  He did not appear to thinkthat anyespecial reverence was due to their boyhood;the oldfellow cut in with storiesto the full as choiceas any theyoungest rake present had to tell--nor did hisown greyhairs nor their smooth faces detain him.  OldMac wasfamous for his good stories.  He was not exactlya lady'sman; that ismen asked him to dine rather atthe housesof their mistresses than of their mothers.There canscarcely be a life lowerperhapsthan hisbut he wasquite contented with itsuch as it wasandled it inperfect good naturesimplicityand modesty ofdemeanour.

By thetime Mac had finished a copious breakfastmost ofthe others had concluded their meal.  Young LordVarinaswas smoking an immense Meerschaum pipewhileCaptain Hugues was employed with a cigar:  thatviolentlittle devil Tandymanwith his little bull-terrierbetweenhis legswas tossing for shillings with all hismight(that fellow was always at some game or other)againstCaptain Deuceace; and Mac and Rawdon walkedoff to theClubneitherof coursehaving given any hintof thebusiness which was occupying their minds.  Bothon theother handhad joined pretty gaily in theconversationfor why should they interrupt it? Feastingdrinkingribaldrylaughtergo on alongside of all sortsof otheroccupations in Vanity Fair--the crowds werepouringout of church as Rawdon and his friend passeddown St. James's Street and entered into their Club.

The oldbucks and habitueswho ordinarily standgaping andgrinning out of the great front window of theClubhadnot arrived at their posts as yet--thenewspaper-roomwas almost empty.  One man was presentwhomRawdon did not know; another to whom he oweda littlescore for whistand whomin consequencehedid notcare to meet; a third was reading the Royalist(aperiodical famous for its scandal and its attachmentto Churchand King) Sunday paper at the tableandlooking upat Crawley with some interestsaid"CrawleyIcongratulate you."

"Whatdo you mean?" said the Colonel.

"It'sin the Observer and the Royalist too" said Mr.Smith.

"What?"Rawdon criedturning very red.  He thoughtthat theaffair with Lord Steyne was already in thepublicprints.  Smith looked up wondering and smilingat theagitation which the Colonel exhibited as he tookup thepaper andtremblingbegan to read.

Mr. Smithand Mr. Brown (the gentleman with .whomRawdon hadthe outstanding whist account) had beentalkingabout the Colonel just before he came in.

"Itis come just in the nick of time" said Smith.  "IsupposeCrawley had not a shilling in the world."

"It'sa wind that blows everybody good" Mr. Brownsaid. "He can't go away without paying me a pony heowes me."

"What'sthe salary?" asked Smith.

"Twoor three thousand" answered the other.  "Buttheclimate's so infernalthey don't enjoy it long.Liverseegedied after eighteen months of itand theman beforewent off in six weeksI hear."

"Somepeople say his brother is a very clever man.  Ialwaysfound him a d-- bore" Smith ejaculated.  "Hemust havegood interestthough.  He must have got theColonelthe place."

"He!"said Brown.  with a sneer.  "Pooh.  It was LordSteyne gotit.

"Howdo you mean?"

"Avirtuous woman is a crown to her husband"answeredthe other enigmaticallyand went to read hispapers.

Rawdonfor his partread in the Royalist the followingastonishingparagraph:

GOVERNORSHIPOF COVENTRY ISLAND.--H.M.S.YellowjackCommander Jaundershas brought letters andpapersfrom Coventry Island.  H.  E.  Sir ThomasLiverseegehad fallen a victim to the prevailing fever atSwampton. His loss is deeply felt in the flourishingcolony. We hear that the Governorship has been offered toColonelRawdon CrawleyC.B.a distinguished Waterlooofficer. We need not only men of acknowledgedbraverybut men of administrative talents to superintendtheaffairs of our coloniesand we have no doubtthat thegentleman selected by the Colonial Office tofill thelamented vacancy which has occurred atCoventryIsland is admirably calculated for the post whichhe isabout to occupy."

"CoventryIsland!  Where was it? Who had appointedhim to thegovernment? You must take me out as yoursecretaryold boy" Captain Macmurdo said laughing;and asCrawley and his friend sat wondering andperplexedover the announcementthe Club waiter broughtin to theColonel a card on which the name of Mr.Wenham wasengravedwho begged to see ColonelCrawley.

TheColonel and his aide-de-camp went out to meetthegentlemanrightly conjecturing that he was anemissaryof Lord Steyne.  "How d'ye doCrawley? I amglad tosee you" said Mr. Wenham with a bland smileandgrasping Crawley's hand with great cordiality.

"YoucomeI supposefrom-- "

"Exactly"said Mr. Wenham.

"Thenthis is my friend Captain Macmurdoof the LifeGuardsGreen."

"Delightedto know Captain MacmurdoI'm sure" Mr.Wenhamsaid and tendered another smile and shake ofthe handto the secondas he had done to the principal.Mac putout one fingerarmed with a buckskin gloveand made avery frigid bow to Mr. Wenham over histightcravat.  He wasperhapsdiscontented at being putincommunication with a pekinand thought that LordSteyneshould have sent him a Colonel at the very least.

"AsMacmurdo acts for meand knows what I mean"Crawleysaid"I had better retire and leave you together."

"Ofcourse" said Macmurdo.

"Byno meansmy dear Colonel" Mr. Wenham said;"theinterview which I had the honour of requesting waswith youpersonallythough the company of CaptainMacmurdocannot fail to be also most pleasing.  In factCaptainIhope that our conversation will lead to nonebut themost agreeable resultsvery different from thosewhich myfriend Colonel Crawley appears to anticipate."

"Humph!"said Captain Macmurdo.  Be hanged to thesecivilianshe thought to himselfthey are always forarrangingand speechifying.  Mr. Wenham took a chairwhich wasnot offered to him--took a paper from hispocketand resumed--

"Youhave seen this gratifying announcement in thepapersthis morningColonel? Government has secureda mostvaluable servantand youif you accept officeasI presumeyou willan excellent appointment.  Threethousand ayeardelightful climateexcellent government-houseallyour own way in the Colonyand a certainpromotion. I congratulate you with all my heart.  Ipresumeyou knowgentlemento whom my friend isindebtedfor this piece of patronage?"

"Hangedif I know" the Captain said; his principalturnedvery red.

"Toone of the most generous and kindest men in theworldashe is one of the greatest--to my excellentfriendthe Marquis of Steyne."

"I'llsee him d-- before I take his place" growledoutRawdon.

"Youare irritated against my noble friend" Mr.Wenhamcalmly resumed; "and nowin the name ofcommonsense and justicetell me why?"

"WHY?"cried Rawdon in surprise.

"Why?Dammy!" said the Captainringing his stickon theground.

"Dammyindeed" said Mr. Wenham with the mostagreeablesmile; "stilllook at the matter as a man oftheworld--as an honest man--and see if you have notbeen inthe wrong.  You come home from a journeyandfind--what?--myLord Steyne supping at your house inCurzonStreet with Mrs. Crawley.  Is the circumstancestrange ornovel? Has he not been a hundred timesbefore inthe same position? Upon my honour and wordas agentleman"--Mr. Wenham here put his hand onhiswaistcoat with a parliamentary air--"I declare I thinkthat yoursuspicions are monstrous and utterlyunfoundedand that they injure an honourable gentlemanwho hasproved his good-will towards you by a thousandbenefactions--anda most spotless and innocent lady."

"Youdon't mean to say that--that Crawley'smistaken?"said Mr. Macmurdo.

"Ibelieve that Mrs. Crawley is as innocent as mywifeMrs.Wenham" Mr. Wenham said with greatenergy. "I believe thatmisled by an infernal jealousymy friendhere strikes a blow against not only an infirmand oldman of high stationhis constant friend andbenefactorbut against his wifehis own dearest honourhis son'sfuture reputationand his own prospects inlife."

"Iwill tell you what happened" Mr. Wenhamcontinuedwith great solemnity; "I was sent for thismorning bymy Lord Steyneand found him in a pitiable stateasI needhardly inform Colonel Crawleyany man ofage andinfirmity would be after a personal conflict witha man ofyour strength.  I say to your face; it was acrueladvantage you took of that strengthColonelCrawley. It was not only the body of my noble andexcellentfriend which was wounded--his heartsirwasbleeding. A man whom he had loaded with benefits andregardedwith affection had subjected him to the foulestindignity. What was this very appointmentwhich appearsin thejournals of to-daybut a proof of his kindness toyou? WhenI saw his Lordship this morning I found himin a statepitiable indeed to seeand as anxious as youare torevenge the outrage committed upon himbyblood. You know he has given his proofsI presumeColonelCrawley?"

"Hehas plenty of pluck" said the Colonel.  "Nobodyever saidhe hadn't."

"Hisfirst order to me was to write a letter ofchallengeand to carry it to Colonel Crawley.  One orother ofus" he said"must not survive the outrageof lastnight."

Crawleynodded.  "You're coming to the pointWenham"he said.

"Itried my utmost to calm Lord Steyne.  Good God!sir"I said"how I regret that Mrs. Wenham and myselfhad notaccepted Mrs. Crawley's invitation to sup withher!"

"Sheasked you to sup with her?" Captain Macmurdosaid.

"Afterthe opera.  Here's the note of invitation--stop--nothisis another paper--I thought I had hbut it'sof noconsequenceand I pledge you my word to thefact. If we had come--and it was only one of Mrs.Wenham'sheadaches which prevented us--she suffersunder thema good dealespecially in the spring--if wehad comeand you had returned homethere would havebeen noquarrelno insultno suspicion--and so it ispositivelybecause my poor wife has a headache that youare tobring death down upon two men of honour andplunge twoof the most excellent and ancient familiesin thekingdom into disgrace and sorrow."

Mr.Macmurdo looked at his principal with the airof a manprofoundly puzzledand Rawdon felt with akind ofrage that his prey was escaping him.  He did notbelieve aword of the storyand yethow discredit ordisproveit?

Mr. Wenhamcontinued with the same fluent oratorywhich inhis place in Parliament he had so oftenpractised--"Isat for an hour or more by Lord Steyne'sbedsidebeseechingimploring Lord Steyne to forego hisintentionof demanding a meeting.  I pointed out to himthat thecircumstances were after all suspicious--theyweresuspicious.  I acknowledge it--any man in yourpositionmight have been taken in--I said that a manfuriouswith jealousy is to all intents and purposes amadmanand should be as such regarded--that a duelbetweenyou must lead to the disgrace of all partiesconcerned--thata man of his Lordship's exalted station hadno rightin these dayswhen the most atrociousrevolutionaryprinciplesand the most dangerous levellingdoctrinesare preached among the vulgarto create apublicscandal; and thathowever innocentthe commonpeoplewould insist that he was guilty.  In fineIimploredhim not to send the challenge."

"Idon't believe one word of the whole story" saidRawdongrinding his teeth.  "I believe it a d-- lieandthatyou're in itMr. Wenham.  If the challenge don'tcome fromhimby Jove it shall come from me."

Mr. Wenhamturned deadly pale at this savageinterruptionof the Colonel and looked towards the door.

But hefound a champion in Captain Macmurdo.  Thatgentlemanrose up with an oath and rebuked Rawdonfor hislanguage.  "You put the affair into my handsandyou shallact as I think fitby Joveand not as you do.You haveno right to insult Mr. Wenham with this sortoflanguage; and dammyMr. Wenhamyou deserve anapology. And as for a challenge to Lord Steyneyoumay getsomebody else to carry itI won't.  If my lordafterbeing thrashedchooses to sit stilldammy let him.And as forthe affair with--with Mrs. Crawleymybelief isthere's nothing proved at all:  that your wife'sinnocentas innocent as Mr. Wenham says she is; and atany ratethat you would be a d--fool not to take theplace andhold your tongue."

"CaptainMacmurdoyou speak like a man of sense"Mr. Wenhamcried outimmensely relieved--"I forgetany wordsthat Colonel Crawley has used in theirritationof the moment."

"Ithought you would" Rawdon said with a sneer.

"Shutyour mouthyou old stoopid" the Captain saidgood-naturedly. "Mr. Wenham ain't a fighting man; andquiterighttoo."

"Thismatterin my belief" the Steyne emissary cried"oughtto be buried in the most profound oblivion.  Awordconcerning it should never pass these doors.  Ispeak inthe interest of my friendas well as of ColonelCrawleywho persists in considering me his enemy."

"Isuppose Lord Steyne won't talk about it verymuch"said Captain Macmurdo; "and I don't see whyour sideshould.  The affair ain't a very pretty oneanyway youtake itand the less said about it the better.It's youare thrashedand not us; and if you are satisfiedwhyIthinkwe should be."

Mr. Wenhamtook his hatupon thisand CaptainMacmurdofollowing him to the doorshut it uponhimselfand Lord Steyne's agentleaving Rawdon chafingwithin. When the two were on the other sideMacmurdolookedhard at the other ambassador and with anexpressionof anything but respect on his round jolly face.

"Youdon't stick at a trifleMr. Wenham" he said.

"Youflatter meCaptain Macmurdo" answered theother witha smile.  "Upon my honour and consciencenowMrs.Crawley did ask us to sup after the opera."

"Ofcourse; and Mrs. Wenham had one of her head-aches. I sayI've got a thousand-pound note herewhichI willgive you if you will give me a receiptplease; andI will putthe note up in an envelope for Lord Steyne.My manshan't fight him.  But we had rather not takehismoney."

"Itwas all a mistake--all a mistakemy dear sir" theother saidwith the utmost innocence of manner; and wasbowed downthe Club steps by Captain Macmurdojustas SirPitt Crawley ascended them.  There was a slightacquaintancebetween these two gentlemenand theCaptaingoing back with the Baronet to the room where thelatter'sbrother wastold Sir Pittin confidencethat hehad madethe affair all right between Lord Steyne andtheColonel.

Sir Pittwas well pleasedof courseat this intelligenceandcongratulated his brother warmly upon the peacefulissue ofthe affairmaking appropriate moral remarksupon theevils of duelling and the unsatisfactory natureof thatsort of settlement of disputes.

And afterthis prefacehe tried with all his eloquenceto effecta reconciliation between Rawdon and his wife.Herecapitulated the statements which Becky had madepointedout the probabilities of their truthand assertedhis ownfirm belief in her innocence.

But Rawdonwould not hear of it.  "She has kep moneyconcealedfrom me these ten years" he said "She sworelast nightonlyshe had none from Steyne.  She knew itwas allupdirectly I found it.  If she's not guiltyPittshe's asbad as guiltyand I'll never see her again--never."His head sank down on his chest as he spokethe wordsand he looked quite broken and sad.

"Poorold boy" Macmurdo saidshaking his head.

RawdonCrawley resisted for some time the idea oftaking theplace which had been procured for him by soodious apatronand was also for removing the boyfrom theschool where Lord Steyne's interest had placedhim. He was inducedhoweverto acquiesce in thesebenefitsby the entreaties of his brother and Macmurdobut mainlyby the latterpointing out to him what afurySteyne would be in to think that his enemy'sfortunewas made through his means.

When theMarquis of Steyne came abroad after hisaccidentthe Colonial Secretary bowed up to him andcongratulatedhimself and the Service upon having madesoexcellent an appointment.  These congratulations werereceivedwith a degree of gratitude which may beimaginedon the part of Lord Steyne.

The secretof the rencontre between him and ColonelCrawleywas buried in the profoundest oblivionasWenhamsaid; that isby the seconds and the principals.But beforethat evening was over it was talked of at fiftydinner-tablesin Vanity Fair.  Little Cackleby himselfwent toseven evening parties and told the story withcommentsand emendations at each place.  How Mrs.WashingtonWhite revelled in it!  The Bishopess of Ealingwasshocked beyond expression; the Bishop went andwrote hisname down in the visiting-book at Gaunt Housethat veryday.  Little Southdown was sorry; so you maybe surewas his sister Lady Janevery sorry.  LadySouthdownwrote it off to her other daughter at the Cape ofGoodHope.  It was town-talk for at least three daysand wasonly kept out of the newspapers by the exertionsof Mr.Waggacting upon a hint from Mr. Wenham.

Thebailiffs and brokers seized upon poor Raggles inCurzonStreetand the late fair tenant of that poor littlemansionwas in the meanwhile--where? Who cared!  Whoaskedafter a day or two? Was she guilty or not? We allknow howcharitable the world isand how the verdictof VanityFair goes when there is a doubt.  Some peoplesaid shehad gone to Naples in pursuit of Lord Steynewhilstothers averred that his Lordship quitted that cityand fledto Palermo on hearing of Becky's arrival; somesaid shewas living in Bierstadtand had become a damed'honneurto the Queen of Bulgaria; some that she wasatBoulogne; and othersat a boarding-house atCheltenham.

Rawdonmade her a tolerable annuityand we maybe surethat she was a woman who could make a littlemoney go agreat wayas the saying is.  He would havepaid hisdebts on leaving Englandcould he have got anyInsuranceOffice to take his lifebut the climate ofCoventryIsland was so bad that he could borrow nomoney onthe strength of his salary.  He remittedhoweverto his brother punctuallyand wrote to his littleboyregularly every mail.  He kept Macmurdo in cigarsand sentover quantities of shellscayenne pepperhotpicklesguava jellyand colonial produce to Lady Jane.He senthis brother home the Swamp Town Gazettein whichthe new Governor was praised with immenseenthusiasm;whereas the Swamp Town Sentinelwhosewife wasnot asked to Government Housedeclared thathisExcellency was a tyrantcompared to whom Nerowas anenlightened philanthropist.  Little Rawdon usedto like toget the papers and read about his Excellency.

His mothernever made any movement to see the child.He wenthome to his aunt for Sundays and holidays; hesoon knewevery bird's nest about Queen's Crawleyandrode outwith Sir Huddlestone's houndswhich headmired soon his first well-remembered visit toHampshire.

CHAPTERLVIGeorgyis Made a Gentleman

GeorgyOsborne was now fairly established in hisgrandfather'smansion in Russell Squareoccupant of hisfather'sroom in the house and heir apparent of all thesplendoursthere.  The good looksgallant bearingandgentlemanlikeappearance of the boy won the grandsire'sheart forhim.  Mr. Osborne was as proud of him as everhe hadbeen of the elder George.

The childhad many more luxuries and indulgences thanhad beenawarded his father.  Osborne's commerce hadprosperedgreatly of late years.  His wealth andimportancein the City had very much increased.  He hadbeen gladenough in former days to put the elder Georgeto a goodprivate school; and a commission in the armyfor hisson had been a source of no small pride tohim; forlittle George and his future prospects the oldman lookedmuch higher.  He would make a gentlemanof thelittle chapwas Mr. Osborne's constant sayingregardinglittle Georgy.  He saw him in his mind's eyeacollegiana Parliament mana Baronetperhaps.  Theold manthought he would die contented if he could seehisgrandson in a fair way to such honours.  He wouldhave nonebut a tip-top college man to educate him--none ofyour quacks and pretenders--nono.  A few yearsbeforeheused to be savageand inveigh against allparsonsscholarsand the like declaring that they werea pack ofhumbugsand quacks that weren't fit to gettheirliving but by grinding Latin and Greekand a setofsupercilious dogs that pretended to look down uponBritishmerchants and gentlemenwho could buy up halfa hundredof 'em.  He would mourn nowin a verysolemnmannerthat his own education had been neglectedandrepeatedly point outin pompous orations to Georgythenecessity and excellence of classical acquirements.

When theymet at dinner the grandsire used to askthe ladwhat he had been reading during the dayandwasgreatly interested at the report the boy gave of hisownstudiespretending to understand little Georgewhen hespoke regarding them.  He made a hundredblundersand showed his ignorance many a time.  It did notincreasethe respect which the child had for his senior.A quickbrain and a better education elsewhere showedthe boyvery soon that his grandsire was a dullardandhe beganaccordingly to command him and to look downupon him;for his previous educationhumble andcontractedas it had beenhad made a much bettergentlemanof Georgy than any plans of his grandfather couldmake him. He had been brought up by a kindweakand tenderwomanwho had no pride about anythingbut abouthimand whose heart was so pure and whosebearingwas so meek and humble that she could not butneeds be atrue lady.  She busied herself in gentle officesand quietduties; if she never said brilliant thingssheneverspoke or thought unkind ones; guileless and artlessloving andpureindeed how could our poor little Ameliabe otherthan a real gentlewoman!

YoungGeorgy lorded over this soft and yieldingnature;and the contrast of its simplicity and delicacy withthe coarsepomposity of the dull old man with whomhe nextcame in contact made him lord over the lattertoo. If he had been a Prince Royal he could not havebeenbetter brought up to think well of himself.

Whilst hismother was yearning after him at homeandI dobelieve every hour of the dayand during mosthours ofthe sad lonely nightsthinking of himthis younggentlemanhad a number of pleasures and consolationsadministeredto himwhich made him for his part beartheseparation from Amelia very easily.  Little boys whocry whenthey are going to school cry because theyare goingto a very uncomfortable place.  It is only afew whoweep from sheer affection.  When you thinkthat theeyes of your childhood dried at the sight of apiece ofgingerbreadand that a plum cake was acompensationfor the agony of parting with your mammaandsistersoh my friend and brotheryou need not betooconfident of your own fine feelings.

WellthenMaster George Osborne had every comfortand luxurythat a wealthy and lavish old grandfatherthoughtfit to provide.  The coachman was instructed topurchasefor him the handsomest pony which could bebought formoneyand on this George was taught toridefirst at a riding-schoolwhenceafter havingperformedsatisfactorily without stirrupsand over theleaping-barhe was conducted through the New Road toRegent'sParkand then to Hyde Parkwhere he rodein statewith Martin the coachman behind him.  OldOsbornewho took matters more easily in the City nowwhere heleft his affairs to his junior partnerswouldoften rideout with Miss O.  in the same fashionable direction.As littleGeorgy came cantering up with his dandifiedair andhis heels downhis grandfather would nudgethe lad'saunt and say"LookMiss O." And he wouldlaughandhis face would grow red with pleasureashe noddedout of the window to the boyas the groomsalutedthe carriageand the footman saluted MasterGeorge. Here too his auntMrs. Frederick Bullock(whosechariot might daily be seen in the Ringwithbullocksor emblazoned on the panels and harnessandthreepasty-faced little Bullockscovered with cockadesandfeathersstaring from the windows) Mrs. FrederickBullockIsayflung glances of the bitterest hatred atthe littleupstart as he rode by with his hand on his sideand hishat on one earas proud as a lord.

Though hewas scarcely eleven years of ageMasterGeorgewore straps and the most beautiful little bootslike aman.  He had gilt spursand a gold-headed whipand a finepin in his handkerchiefand the neatest littlekid gloveswhich Lamb's Conduit Street could furnish.His motherhad given him a couple of neckclothsandcarefullyhemmed and made some little shirts for him;but whenher Eli came to see the widowthey werereplacedby much finer linen.  He had little jewelled buttonsin thelawn shirt fronts.  Her humble presents had been putaside--Ibelieve Miss Osborne had given them to thecoachman'sboy.  Amelia tried to think she was pleasedat thechange.  Indeedshe was happy and charmed tosee theboy looking so beautiful.

She hadhad a little black profile of him done for ashillingand this was hung up by the side of anotherportraitover her bed.  One day the boy came on hisaccustomedvisitgalloping down the little street atBromptonand bringingas usualall the inhabitants to thewindows toadmire his splendourand with great eagernessand a lookof triumph in his facehe pulled a caseout of hisgreat-coat--it was a natty white great-coatwith acape and a velvet collar--pulled out a redmoroccocasewhich he gave her.

"Ibought it with my own moneyMamma" he said."Ithought you'd like it."

Ameliaopened the caseand giving a little cry ofdelightedaffectionseized the boy and embraced him ahundredtimes.  It was a miniature-of himselfvery prettilydone(though not half handsome enoughwe may besurethewidow thought).  His grandfather had wishedto have apicture of him by an artist whose worksexhibitedin a shop-windowin Southampton Rowhadcaught theold gentleman's eye; and Georgewho hadplenty ofmoneybethought him of asking the painterhow much acopy of the little portrait would costsayingthat hewould pay for it out of his own money andthat hewanted to give it to his mother.  The pleasedpainterexecuted it for a small priceand old Osbornehimselfwhen he heard of the incidentgrowled out hissatisfactionand gave the boy twice as many sovereignsas he paidfor the miniature.

But whatwas the grandfather's pleasure compared toAmelia'secstacy? That proof of the boy's affectioncharmedher so that she thought no child in the worldwas likehers for goodness.  For long weeks afterthethought ofhis love made her happy.  She slept betterwith thepicture under her pillowand how many manytimes didshe kiss it and weep and pray over it!  Asmallkindness from those she loved made that timidheartgrateful.  Since her parting with George she had hadno suchjoy and consolation.

At his newhome Master George ruled like a lord;at dinnerhe invited the ladies to drink wine with theutmostcoolnessand took off his champagne in a waywhichcharmed his old grandfather.  "Look at him" theold manwould saynudging his neighbour with adelightedpurple face"did you ever see such a chap?LordLord!  he'll be ordering a dressing-case nextandrazors toshave with; I'm blessed if he won't."

The anticsof the lad did nothoweverdelight Mr.Osborne'sfriends so much as they pleased the oldgentleman. It gave Mr. Justice Coffin no pleasure to hearGeorgy cutinto the conversation and spoil his stories.ColonelFogey was not interested in seeing the little boyhalftipsy.  Mr. Sergeant Toffy's lady felt no particulargratitudewhenwith a twist of his elbowhe tilted aglass ofport-wine over her yellow satin and laughed atthedisaster; nor was she better pleasedalthough oldOsbornewas highly delightedwhen Georgy "whopped"her thirdboy (a young gentleman a year older thanGeorgyand by chance home for the holidays from Dr.Tickleus'sat Ealing School) in Russell Square.  George'sgrandfathergave the boy a couple of sovereigns for thatfeat andpromised to reward him further for every boyabove hisown size and age whom he whopped in asimilarmanner.  It is difficult to say what good the old mansaw inthese combats; he had a vague notion thatquarrellingmade boys hardyand that tyranny was a usefulaccomplishmentfor them to learn.  English youth havebeen soeducated time out of mindand we havehundredsof thousands of apologists and admirers ofinjusticemiseryand brutalityas perpetrated amongchildren. Flushed with praise and victory over Master ToffyGeorgewished naturally to pursue his conquests furtherand oneday as he was strutting about in prodigiouslydandifiednew clothesnear St.  Pancrasand a youngbaker'sboy made sarcastic comments upon his appearancetheyouthful patrician pulled off his dandy jacketwith greatspiritand giving it in charge to the friendwhoaccompanied him (Master Toddof Great CoramStreetRussell Squareson of the junior partner of thehouse ofOsborne and Co.)George tried to whop thelittlebaker.  But the chances of war were unfavourablethis timeand the little baker whopped Georgywhocame homewith a rueful black eye and all his fine shirtfrilldabbled with the claret drawn from his own littlenose. He told his grandfather that he had been incombatwith a giantand frightened his poor mother atBromptonwith longand by no means authenticaccountsof the battle.

This youngToddof Coram StreetRussell Squarewas MasterGeorge's great friend and admirer.  They bothhad ataste for painting theatrical characters; forhardbakeand raspberry tarts; for sliding and skating in theRegent'sPark and the Serpentinewhen the weatherpermitted;for going to the playwhither they were oftenconductedby Mr. Osborne's ordersby RowsonMasterGeorge'sappointed body-servantwith whom they sat ingreatcomfort in the pit.

In thecompany of this gentleman they visited all theprincipaltheatres of the metropolis; knew the names ofall theactors from Drury Lane to Sadler's Wells; andperformedindeedmany of the plays to the Todd familyand theiryouthful friendswith West's famous characterson theirpasteboard theatre.  Rowsonthe footmanwhowas of agenerous dispositionwould not unfrequentlywhen incashtreat his young master to oysters afterthe playand to a glass of rum-shrub for a night-cap.We may bepretty certain that Mr. Rowson profited inhis turnby his young master's liberality and gratitudefor thepleasures to which the footman inducted him.

A famoustailor from the West End of the town--Mr.Osborne would have none of your City or Holbornbunglershe saidfor the boy (though a City tailor wasgoodenough for HIM)--was summoned to ornament littleGeorge'spersonand was told to spare no expense in sodoing. SoMr. Woolseyof Conduit Streetgave a looseto hisimagination and sent the child home fancy trousersfancywaistcoatsand fancy jackets enough to furnish aschool oflittle dandies.  Georgy had little whitewaistcoatsfor evening partiesand little cut velvet waistcoatsfordinnersand a dear little darling shawl dressing-gownfor allthe world like a little man.  He dressed for dinnerevery day"like a regular West End swell" as hisgrandfatherremarked; one of the domestics was affected tohisspecial serviceattended him at his toiletteansweredhis belland brought him his letters always on asilvertray.

Georgyafter breakfastwould sit in the arm-chair inthedining-room and read the Morning Postjust like agrown-upman.  "How he DU dam and swear" theservantswould crydelighted at his precocity.  Those whorememberedthe Captain his fatherdeclared MasterGeorge washis Paevery inch of him.  He made the houselively byhis activityhis imperiousnesshis scoldingandhisgood-nature.

George'seducation was confided to a neighbouringscholarand private pedagogue who "prepared youngnoblemenand gentlemen for the Universitiesthe senateand thelearned professions:  whose system did notembracethe degrading corporal severities still practised attheancient places of educationand in whose family thepupilswould find the elegances of refined society andtheconfidence and affection of a home." It was in thisway thatthe Reverend Lawrence Veal of Hart StreetBloomsburyand domestic Chaplain to the Earl ofBareacresstrove with Mrs. Veal his wife to entice pupils.

By thusadvertising and pushing sedulouslythedomesticChaplain and his Lady generally succeeded inhaving oneor two scholars by them--who paid a highfigure andwere thought to be in uncommonly comfortablequarters. There was a large West Indianwhomnobodycame to seewith a mahogany complexiona woollyheadandan exceedingly dandyfied appearance; therewasanother hulking boy of three-and-twenty whoseeducationhad been neglected and whom Mr. and Mrs. Vealwere tointroduce into the polite world; there were twosons ofColonel Bangles of the East India Company'sService: these four sat down to dinner at Mrs. Veal'sgenteelboardwhen Georgy was introduced to herestablishment.

Georgywaslike some dozen other pupilsonly aday boy;he arrived in the morning under theguardianshipof his friend Mr. Rowsonand if it was finewould rideaway in the afternoon on his ponyfollowed bythegroom.  The wealth of his grandfather was reportedin theschool to be prodigious.  The Rev.  Mr. Veal usedtocompliment Georgy upon it personallywarning himthat hewas destined for a high station; that it becamehim toprepareby sedulity and docility in youthfor theloftyduties to which he would be called in mature age;thatobedience in the child was the best preparation forcommand inthe man; and that he therefore begged Georgewould notbring toffee into the school and ruin the healthof theMasters Bangleswho had everything they wantedat theelegant and abundant table of Mrs. Veal.

Withrespect to learning"the Curriculum" as Mr.Veal lovedto call itwas of prodigious extentand theyounggentlemen in Hart Street might learn asomethingof every known science.  The Rev.  Mr. Veal hadan orreryan electrifying machinea turning latheatheatre(in the wash-house)a chemical apparatusandwhat hecalled a select library of all the works of thebestauthors of ancient and modern times and languages.He tookthe boys to the British Museum and descantedupon theantiquities and the specimens of natural historytheresothat audiences would gather round him as hespokeandall Bloomsbury highly admired him as aprodigiouslywell-informed man.  And whenever he spoke(which hedid almost always)he took care to produce theveryfinest and longest words of which the vocabularygave himthe userightly judging that it was as cheap toemploy ahandsomelargeand sonorous epithetas touse alittle stingy one.

Thus hewould say to George in school"I observedon myreturn home from taking the indulgence of anevening'sscientific conversation with my excellent friendDoctorBulders--a true archaeologiangentlemena truearchaeologian--thatthe windows of your veneratedgrandfather'salmost princely mansion in Russell Square wereilluminatedas if for the purposes of festivity.  Am I rightin myconjecture that Mr. Osborne entertained a societyof chosenspirits round his sumptuous board last night?"

LittleGeorgywho had considerable humourand usedto mimicMr. Veal to his face with great spirit anddexteritywould reply that Mr. V.  was quite correctin hissurmise.

"Thenthose friends who had the honour of partakingof Mr.Osborne's hospitalitygentlemenhad no reasonI will layany wagerto complain of their repast.  Imyselfhave been more than once so favoured.  (By the wayMasterOsborneyou came a little late this morningandhave beena defaulter in this respect more than once.)I myselfI saygentlemenhumble as I amhave beenfound notunworthy to share Mr. Osborne's eleganthospitality. And though I have feasted with the great andnoble ofthe world--for I presume that I may call myexcellentfriend and patronthe Right Honourable GeorgeEarl ofBareacresone of the number--yet I assure youthat theboard of the British merchant was to the fullas richlyservedand his reception as gratifying andnoble. Mr. Blucksirwe will resumeif you pleasethatpassage of Eutropiswhich was interrupted by thelatearrival of Master Osborne."

To thisgreat man George's education was for sometimeentrusted.  Amelia was bewildered by his phrasesbutthought him a prodigy of learning.  That poor widowmadefriends of Mrs. Vealfor reasons of her own.  Sheliked tobe in the house and see Georgy coming to schoolthere. She liked to be asked to Mrs. Veal's conversazioniwhich tookplace once a month (as you were informed onpinkcardswith AOHNH engraved on them)and wheretheprofessor welcomed his pupils and their friends to weaktea andscientific conversation.  Poor little Amelia nevermissed oneof these entertainments and thought themdeliciousso long as she might have Georgy sitting by her.And shewould walk from Brompton in any weatherandembrace Mrs. Veal with tearful gratitude for thedelightfulevening she had passedwhenthe companyhavingretired and Georgy gone off with Mr. Rowsonhisattendantpoor Mrs. Osborne put on her cloaks andher shawlspreparatory to walking home.

As for thelearning which Georgy imbibed under thisvaluablemaster of a hundred sciencesto judge fromthe weeklyreports which the lad took home to hisgrandfatherhis progress was remarkable.  The names of ascore ormore of desirable branches of knowledge wereprinted ina tableand the pupil's progress in each wasmarked bythe professor.  In Greek Georgy waspronouncedaristosin Latin optimusin French tres bienand soforth; and everybody had prizes for everythingat the endof the year.  Even Mr. Swartzthe wooly-headedyoung gentlemanand half-brother to theHonourableMrs. Mac Mulland Mr. Bluckthe neglectedyoungpupil of three-and-twenty from the agriculturaldistrictand that idle young scapegrace of a Master Toddbeforementionedreceived little eighteen-penny bookswith"Athene" engraved on themand a pompous Latininscriptionfrom the professor to his young friends.

The familyof this Master Todd were hangers-on ofthe houseof Osborne.  The old gentleman had advancedTodd frombeing a clerk to be a junior partner in hisestablishment.

Mr.Osborne was the godfather of young Master Todd(who insubsequent life wrote Mr. Osborne Todd on hiscards andbecame a man of decided fashion)while MissOsbornehad accompanied Miss Maria Todd to the fontand gaveher protegee a prayer-booka collection oftractsavolume of very low church poetryor somesuchmemento of her goodness every year.  Miss O.  drovethe Toddsout in her carriage now and then; when theywere illher footmanin large plush smalls andwaistcoatbrought jellies and delicacies from Russell Square toCoramStreet.  Coram Street trembled and looked up toRussellSquare indeedand Mrs. Toddwho had a prettyhand atcutting out paper trimmings for haunches ofmuttonand could make flowersducks&c.out of turnipsandcarrots in a very creditable mannerwould go to "theSquare"as it was calledand assist in the preparationsincidentto a great dinnerwithout even so much asthinkingof sitting down to the banquet.  If any guest failed attheeleventh hourTodd was asked to dine.  Mrs. Todd andMaria cameacross in the eveningslipped in with a muffledknockandwere in the drawing-room by the time MissOsborneand the ladies under her convoy reached thatapartment--andready to fire off duets and sing untilthegentlemen came up.  Poor Maria Todd; poor younglady! How she had to work and thrum at these duetsandsonatas in the Streetbefore they appeared in publicin theSquare!

Thus itseemed to be decreed by fate that Georgywas todomineer over everybody with whom he came incontactand that friendsrelativesand domestics wereall to bowthe knee before the little fellow.  It mustbe ownedthat he accommodated himself very willinglyto thisarrangement.  Most people do so.  And Georgyliked toplay the part of master and perhaps had anaturalaptitude for it.

In RussellSquare everybody was afraid of Mr. Osborneand Mr.Osborne was afraid of Georgy.  The boy'sdashingmannersand offhand rattle about books andlearninghis likeness to his father (dead unreconciled inBrusselsyonder) awed the old gentleman and gave theyoung boythe mastery.  The old man would start atsomehereditary feature or tone unconsciously used bythe littleladand fancy that George's father was againbeforehim.  He tried by indulgence to the grandson tomake upfor harshness to the elder George.  People weresurprisedat his gentleness to the boy.  He growled andswore atMiss Osborne as usualand would smile whenGeorgecame down late for breakfast.

MissOsborneGeorge's auntwas a faded old spinsterbrokendown by more than forty years of dulness andcoarseusage.  It was easy for a lad of spirit to master her.Andwhenever George wanted anything from herfrom thejam-potsin her cupboards to the cracked and dry oldcolours inher paint-box (the old paint-box which shehad hadwhen she was a pupil of Mr. Smee and wasstillalmost young and blooming)Georgy took possessionof theobject of his desirewhich obtainedhe took nofurthernotice of his aunt.

For hisfriends and cronieshe had a pompous oldschoolmasterwho flattered himand a toadyhis seniorwhom hecould thrash.  It was dear Mrs. Todd's delight toleave himwith her youngest daughterRosa Jemimaadarlingchild of eight years old.  The little pair looked sowelltogethershe would say (but not to the folks in "theSquare"we may be sure) "who knows what mighthappen?Don't they make a pretty little couple?" thefondmother thought.

Thebroken-spiritedoldmaternal grandfather waslikewisesubject to the little tyrant.  He could not helprespectinga lad who had such fine clothes and rode witha groombehind him.  Georgyon his sidewas in theconstanthabit of hearing coarse abuse and vulgar satirelevelledat John Sedley by his pitiless old enemyMr.Osborne. Osborne used to call the other the old pauperthe oldcoal-manthe old bankruptand by many othersuch namesof brutal contumely.  How was little Georgeto respecta man so prostrate? A few months after hewas withhis paternal grandfatherMrs. Sedley died.There hadbeen little love between her and the child.He did notcare to show much grief.  He came down tovisit hismother in a fine new suit of mourningand wasvery angrythat he could not go to a play upon whichhe had sethis heart.

Theillness of that old lady had been the occupationandperhaps the safeguard of Amelia.  What do men knowaboutwomen's martyrdoms? We should go mad hadwe toendure the hundredth part of those daily painswhich aremeekly borne by many women.  Ceaselessslaverymeeting with no reward; constant gentleness andkindnessmet by cruelty as constant; lovelabourpatiencewatchfulnesswithout even so much as the acknowledgementof a goodword; all thishow many of them haveto bear inquietand appear abroad with cheerful facesas if theyfelt nothing.  Tender slaves that they aretheymust needsbe hypocrites and weak.

From herchair Amelia's mother had taken to her bedwhich shehad never leftand from which Mrs. Osborneherselfwas never absent except when she ran to seeGeorge. The old lady grudged her even those rare visits;shewhohad been a kindsmilinggood-natured motheronceinthe days of her prosperitybut whom povertyandinfirmities had broken down.  Her illness or estrangementdid notaffect Amelia.  They rather enabled her tosupportthe other calamity under which she was sufferingand fromthe thoughts of which she was kept by theceaselesscalls of the invalid.  Amelia bore her harshnessquitegently; smoothed the uneasy pillow; was alwaysready witha soft answer to the watchfulquerulousvoice;soothed the sufferer with words of hopesuch asher pioussimple heart could best feel and utterandclosed theeyes that had once looked so tenderly uponher.

Then allher time and tenderness were devoted to theconsolationand comfort of the bereaved old fatherwhowasstunned by the blow which had befallen himandstoodutterly alone in the world.  His wifehis honourhisfortuneeverything he loved best had fallen awayfrom him. There was only Amelia to stand by and supportwith hergentle arms the totteringheart-broken old man.We are notgoing to write the history:  it would be toodreary andstupid.  I can see Vanity Fair yawning over itd'avance.

One day asthe young gentlemen were assembledin thestudy at the Rev.  Mr. Veal'sand the domesticchaplainto the Right Honourable the Earl of Bareacreswasspouting away as usuala smart carriage drove upto thedoor decorated with the statue of Atheneand twogentlemenstepped out.  The young Masters Bangles rushedto thewindow with a vague notion that their fathermight havearrived from Bombay.  The great hulkingscholar ofthree-and-twentywho was crying secretly over apassage ofEutropiusflattened his neglected nose againstthe panesand looked at the dragas the laquais de placesprangfrom the box and let out the persons in the carriage.

"It'sa fat one and a thin one" Mr. Bluck said as athunderingknock came to the door.

Everybodywas interestedfrom the domestic chaplainhimselfwho hoped he saw the fathers of some futurepupilsdown to Master Georgyglad of any pretext forlaying hisbook down.

The boy inthe shabby livery with the faded copperbuttonswho always thrust himself into the tight coatto openthe doorcame into the study and said"Twogentlemenwant to see Master Osborne." The professorhad had atrifling altercation in the morning with thatyounggentlemanowing to a difference about theintroductionof crackers in school-time; but his faceresumedits habitual expression of bland courtesy as hesaid"Master OsborneI give you full permission to goand seeyour carriage friends--to whom I beg you toconvey therespectful compliments of myself and Mrs.Veal."

Georgywent into the reception-room and saw twostrangerswhom he looked at with his head upin hisusualhaughty manner.  One was fatwith mustachiosand theother was lean and longin a blue frock-coatwith abrown face and a grizzled head.

"MyGodhow like he is!" said the long gentlemanwith astart.  "Can you guess who we areGeorge?"

The boy'sface flushed upas it did usually when hewas movedand his eyes brightened.  "I don't know theother"he said"but I should think you must be MajorDobbin."

Indeed itwas our old friend.  His voice trembledwithpleasure as he greeted the boyand taking both theother'shands in his owndrew the lad to him.

"Yourmother has talked to you about me--hasshe?"he said.

"Thatshe has" Georgy answered"hundreds andhundredsof times."

CHAPTERLVIIEothen

It was oneof the many causes for personal pridewith whichold Osborne chose to recreate himselfthatSedleyhis ancient rivalenemyand benefactorwas in hislast days so utterly defeated and humiliatedas to beforced to accept pecuniary obligations at thehands ofthe man who had most injured and insultedhim. The successful man of the world cursed the oldpauper andrelieved him from time to time.  As hefurnishedGeorge with money for his motherhe gavethe boy tounderstand by hintsdelivered in his brutalcoarsewaythat George's maternal grandfather wasbut awretched old bankrupt and dependantand thatJohnSedley might thank the man to whom he alreadyowed everso much money for the aid which his generositynow choseto administer.  George carried the pompoussuppliesto his mother and the shattered old widower whomit was nowthe main business of her life to tend andcomfort. The little fellow patronized the feeble anddisappointedold man.

It mayhave shown a want of "proper pride" inAmeliathat she chose to accept these money benefits atthe handsof her father's enemy.  But proper pride andthis poorlady had never had much acquaintance together.Adisposition naturally simple and demanding protection;a longcourse of poverty and humilityof daily privationsand hardwordsof kind offices and no returnshad beenher lotever since womanhood almostor since herlucklessmarriage with George Osborne.  You who see yourbettersbearing up under this shame every daymeeklysufferingunder the slights of fortunegentle and unpitiedpoorandrather despised for their povertydo you everstep downfrom your prosperity and wash the feet ofthese poorwearied beggars? The very thought of them isodious andlow.  "There must be classes--there must berich andpoor" Dives sayssmacking his claret (it iswell if heeven sends the broken meat out to Lazarussittingunder the window).  Very true; but think howmysteriousand often unaccountable it is--that lotteryof lifewhich gives to this man the purple and fine linenand sendsto the other rags for garments and dogs forcomforters.

So I mustown thatwithout much repiningon thecontrarywith something akin to gratitudeAmelia took thecrumbsthat her father-in-law let drop now and thenand withthem fed her own parent.  Directly she understoodit to beher dutyit was this young woman's nature(ladiesshe is but thirty stilland we choose to call hera youngwoman even at that age) it wasI sayhernature tosacrifice herself and to fling all that she had atthe feetof the beloved object.  During what long thanklessnights hadshe worked out her fingers for little Georgywhilst athome with her; what buffetsscornsprivationspovertieshad she endured for father and mother!  Andin themidst of all these solitary resignations and unseensacrificesshe did not respect herself any more than theworldrespected herbut I believe thought in her heartthat shewas a poor-spiriteddespicable little creaturewhose luckin life was only too good for her merits.  Oyou poorwomen!  O you poor secret martyrs and victimswhose lifeis a torturewho are stretched on racks inyourbedroomsand who lay your heads down on theblockdaily at the drawing-room table; every man whowatchesyour painsor peers into those dark places wherethetorture is administered to youmust pity you--and--andthank God that he has a beard.  I recollect seeingyears agoat the prisons for idiots and madmen atBicetrenear Parisa poor wretch bent down underthebondage of his imprisonment and his personalinfirmityto whom one of our party gave a halfpenny worthof snuffin a cornet or "screw" of paper.  The kindnesswas toomuch for the poor epileptic creature.  He criedin ananguish of delight and gratitude:  if anybody gaveyou and mea thousand a yearor saved our liveswecould notbe so affected.  And soif you properly tyrannizeover awomanyou will find a h'p'orth of kindness actupon herand bring tears into her eyesas though youwere anangel benefiting her.

Some suchboons as these were the best which Fortuneallottedto poor little Amelia.  Her lifebegun notunprosperouslyhad come down to this--to a mean prisonand alongignoble bondage.  Little George visited hercaptivitysometimes and consoled it with feeble gleamsofencouragement.  Russell Square was the boundary ofherprison:  she might walk thither occasionallybut wasalwaysback to sleep in her cell at night; to performcheerlessduties; to watch by thankless sick-beds; tosuffer theharassment and tyranny of querulousdisappointedold age.  How many thousands of people aretherewomen for the most partwho are doomed to endurethis longslavery?--who are hospital nurses withoutwages--sistersof Charityif you likewithout theromanceand the sentiment of sacrifice--who strivefastwatchandsufferunpitiedand fade away ignobly andunknown.

The hiddenand awful Wisdom which apportions thedestiniesof mankind is pleased so to humiliate and castdown thetendergoodand wiseand to set up the selfishthefoolishor the wicked.  Ohbe humblemy brotherin yourprosperity!  Be gentle with those who are lessluckyifnot more deserving.  Thinkwhat right have youto bescornfulwhose virtue is a deficiency of temptationwhosesuccess may be a chancewhose rank may beanancestor's accidentwhose prosperity is very likelya satire.

Theyburied Amelia's mother in the churchyard atBromptonupon just such a rainydark day as Ameliarecollectedwhen first she had been there to marry George.Her littleboy sat by her side in pompous new sables.Sheremembered the old pew-woman and clerk.  Herthoughtswere away in other times as the parson read.But thatshe held George's hand in her ownperhaps shewould haveliked to change places with....  Thenasusualshefelt ashamed of her selfish thoughts and prayedinwardlyto be strengthened to do her duty.

So shedetermined with all her might and strength totry andmake her old father happy.  She slavedtoiledpatchedand mendedsang and played backgammonreadout thenewspapercooked dishesfor old Sedleywalkedhim outsedulously into Kensington Gardens or the BromptonLaneslistened to his stories with untiring smiles andaffectionatehypocrisyor sat musing by his side andcommuningwith her own thoughts and reminiscencesas the oldmanfeeble and queruloussunned himself onthe gardenbenches and prattled about his wrongs or hissorrows. What sadunsatisfactory thoughts those of thewidowwere!  The children running up and down theslopes andbroad paths in the gardens reminded her ofGeorgewho was taken from her; the first George wastaken fromher; her selfishguilty lovein both instanceshad beenrebuked and bitterly chastised.  She strove tothink itwas right that she should be so punished.  Shewas such amiserable wicked sinner.  She was quitealone inthe world.

I knowthat the account of this kind of solitaryimprisonmentis insufferably tediousunless there is somecheerfulor humorous incident to enliven it--a tender gaolerforinstanceor a waggish commandant of the fortressor a mouseto come out and play about Latude's beardandwhiskersor a subterranean passage under the castledug byTrenck with his nails and a toothpick:  the historianhas nosuch enlivening incident to relate in the narrativeofAmelia's captivity.  Fancy herif you pleaseduring thisperiodvery sadbut always ready to smile when spokento; in avery meanpoornot to say vulgar position oflife;singing songsmaking puddingsplaying cardsmendingstockingsfor her old father's benefit.  Sonevermindwhether she be a heroine or no; or you and Ihoweveroldscoldingand bankrupt--may we have in our last daysa kindsoft shoulder on which to lean and a gentle handto sootheour gouty old pillows.

Old Sedleygrew very fond of his daughter after hiswife'sdeathand Amelia had her consolation in doing herduty bythe old man.

But we arenot going to leave these two people long insuch a lowand ungenteel station of life.  Better daysasfar asworldly prosperity wentwere in store for both.Perhapsthe ingenious reader has guessed who was thestoutgentleman who called upon Georgy at his school incompanywith our old friend Major Dobbin.  It wasanotherold acquaintance returned to Englandand at a timewhen hispresence was likely to be of great comfort tohisrelatives there.

MajorDobbin having easily succeeded in getting leavefrom hisgood-natured commandant to proceed toMadrasand thence probably to Europeon urgent privateaffairsnever ceased travelling night and day until hereachedhis journey's endand had directed his marchwith suchcelerity that he arrived at Madras in a highfever. His servants who accompanied him brought himto thehouse of the friend with whom he had resolved tostay untilhis departure for Europe in a state of delirium;and it wasthought for manymany days that he wouldnevertravel farther than the burying-ground of the churchof St. George'swhere the troops should fire a salvo overhis graveand where many a gallant officer lies far awayfrom hishome.

Hereasthe poor fellow lay tossing in his feverthepeople whowatched him might have heard him ravingaboutAmelia.  The idea that he should never see her againdepressedhim in his lucid hours.  He thought his last daywas comeand he made his solemn preparations fordeparturesetting his affairs in this world in order andleavingthe little property of which he was possessed tothose whomhe most desired to benefit.  The friend inwhosehouse he was located witnessed his testament.  Hedesired tobe buried with a little brown hair-chain whichhe woreround his neck and whichif the truth must beknownhehad got from Amelia's maid at Brusselswhenthe youngwidow's hair was cut offduring the feverwhichprostrated her after the death of George Osborneon theplateau at Mount St.  John.

Herecoveredralliedrelapsed againhaving undergonesuch aprocess of blood-letting and calomel asshowed thestrength of his original constitution.  He wasalmost askeleton when they put him on board theRamchunderEast IndiamanCaptain Braggfrom Calcuttatouchingat Madrasand so weak and prostrate that hisfriend whohad tended him through his illness prophesiedthat thehonest Major would never survive the voyageand thathe would pass some morningshrouded inflag andhammockover the ship's sideand carryingdown tothe sea with him the relic that he wore at hisheart. But whether it was the sea airor the hope whichsprung upin him afreshfrom the day that the shipspread hercanvas and stood out of the roads towardshomeourfriend began to amendand he was quitewell(though as gaunt as a greyhound) before theyreachedthe Cape.  "Kirk will be disappointed of hismajoritythis time" he said with a smile; "he willexpect tofind himself gazetted by the time the regimentreacheshome." For it must be premised that while theMajor waslying ill at Madrashaving made suchprodigioushaste to go thitherthe gallant --thwhich hadpassedmany years abroadwhich after its return fromthe WestIndies had been baulked of its stay at home bytheWaterloo campaignand had been ordered fromFlandersto Indiahad received orders home; and the Majormight haveaccompanied his comradeshad he chosen towait fortheir arrival at Madras.

Perhaps hewas not inclined to put himself in hisexhaustedstate again under the guardianship of Glorvina."Ithink Miss O'Dowd would have done for me" he saidlaughinglyto a fellow-passenger"if we had had her onboardandwhen she had sunk meshe would have fallenupon youdepend upon itand carried you in as a prizetoSouthamptonJosmy boy."

For indeedit was no other than our stout friendwho wasalso a passenger on board the Ramchunder.  Hehad passedten years in Bengal.  Constant dinnerstiffinspale aleand claretthe prodigious labour of cutcherryand therefreshment of brandy-pawnee which he wasforced totake therehad their effect upon Waterloo Sedley.A voyageto Europe was pronounced necessary for him--and havingserved his full time in India and had fineappointmentswhich had enabled him to lay by a considerablesum ofmoneyhe was free to come home and staywith agood pensionor to return and resume that rankin theservice to which his seniority and his vast talentsentitledhim.

He wasrather thinner than when we last saw himbut hadgained in majesty and solemnity of demeanour.He hadresumed the mustachios to which his services atWaterlooentitled himand swaggered about on deck in amagnificentvelvet cap with a gold band and a profuseornamentationof pins and jewellery about his person.He tookbreakfast in his cabin and dressed as solemnly toappear onthe quarter-deck as if he were going to turn outfor BondStreetor the Course at Calcutta.  He brought anativeservant with himwho was his valet and pipe-bearer andwho wore the Sedley crest in silver on histurban. That oriental menial had a wretched life underthetyranny of Jos Sedley.  Jos was as vain of his personas awomanand took as long a time at his toilette asany fadingbeauty.  The youngsters among thepassengersYoung Chaffers of the 150thand poor littleRickettscoming home after his third feverused to drawout Sedleyat the cuddy-table and make him tellprodigiousstories about himself and his exploits against tigersandNapoleon.  He was great when he visited theEmperor'stomb at Longwoodwhen to these gentlemen andthe youngofficers of the shipMajor Dobbin not being byhedescribed the whole battle of Waterloo and all butannouncedthat Napoleon never would have gone to SaintHelena atall but for himJos Sedley.

Afterleaving St.  Helena he became very generousdisposingof a great quantity of ship storesclaretpreservedmeatsand great casks packed with soda-waterbroughtout for his private delectation.  There were noladies onboard; the Major gave the pas of precedencyto thecivilianso that he was the first dignitary attableandtreated by Captain Bragg and the officers oftheRamchunder with the respect which his rankwarranted. He disappeared rather in a panic during a two-days'galein which he had the portholes of his cabinbatteneddownand remained in his cot reading theWasherwomanof Finchley Commonleft on board theRamchunderby the Right Honourable the Lady EmilyHornblowerwife of the Rev.  Silas Hornblowerwhen ontheirpassage out to the Capewhere the Reverend gentlemanwas amissionary; butfor common readinghe hadbrought astock of novels and plays which he lent to therest ofthe shipand rendered himself agreeable to all byhiskindness and condescension.

Many andmany a night as the ship was cutting throughtheroaring dark seathe moon and stars shiningoverheadand the bell singing out the watchMr. Sedley andthe Majorwould sit on the quarter-deck of the vesseltalkingabout homeas the Major smoked his cheroot andthecivilian puffed at the hookah which his servantpreparedfor him.

In theseconversations it was wonderful with whatperseveranceand ingenuity Major Dobbin would manageto bringthe talk round to the subject of Amelia and herlittleboy.  Josa little testy about his father's misfortunesandunceremonious applications to himwas sootheddown bythe Majorwho pointed out the elder's illfortunesand old age.  He would not perhaps like to live withthe oldcouplewhose ways and hours might not agreewith thoseof a younger manaccustomed to differentsociety(Jos bowed at this compliment); butthe Majorpointedouthow advantageous it would be for Jos Sedleyto have ahouse of his own in Londonand not amerebachelor's establishment as before; how his sisterAmeliawould be the very person to preside over it; howeleganthow gentle she wasand of what refined goodmanners. He recounted stories of the success which Mrs.GeorgeOsborne had had in former days at Brusselsandin Londonwhere she was much admired by people ofvery greatfashion; and he then hinted how becoming itwould befor Jos to send Georgy to a good school andmake a manof himfor his mother and her parentswould besure to spoil him.  In a wordthis artful Majormade thecivilian promise to take charge of Amelia andherunprotected child.  He did not know as yet whatevents hadhappened in the little Sedley familyand howdeath hadremoved the motherand riches had carriedoff Georgefrom Amelia.  But the fact is that every dayandalwaysthis love-smitten and middle-aged gentlemanwasthinking about Mrs. Osborneand his whole heartwas bentupon doing her good.  He coaxedwheedledcajoledand complimented Jos Sedley with a perseveranceandcordiality of which he was not aware himselfverylikely; but some men who have unmarried sistersordaughters evenmay remember how uncommonlyagreeablegentlemen are to the male relations when theyarecourting the females; and perhaps this rogue of aDobbin wasurged by a similar hypocrisy.

The truthiswhen Major Dobbin came on board theRamchumdervery sickand for the three days she layin theMadras Roadshe did not begin to rallynor dideven theappearance and recognition of his old acquaintanceMr.Sedleyon board much cheer himuntil after aconversationwhich they had one dayas the Major waslaidlanguidly on the deck.  He said then he thought hewasdoomed; he had left a little something to his godsonin hiswilland he trusted Mrs. Osborne would rememberhim kindlyand be happy in the marriage she wasabout tomake.  "Married? not the least" Jos answered;"hehad heard from her:  she made no mention of themarriageand by the wayit was curiousshe wrote tosay thatMajor Dobbin was going to be marriedandhoped thatHE would be happy." What were the dates ofSedley'sletters from Europe? The civilian fetched them.They weretwo months later than the Major's; and theship'ssurgeon congratulated himself upon the treatmentadopted byhim towards his new patientwho had beenconsignedto shipboard by the Madras practitioner withvery smallhopes indeed; forfrom that daythe veryday thathe changed the draughtMajor Dobbin beganto mend. And thus it was that deserving officerCaptainKirkwasdisappointed of his majority.

After theypassed St.  HelenaMajor Dobbin's gaietyandstrength was such as to astonish all his fellowpassengers. He larked with the midshipmenplayed single-stick withthe matesran up the shrouds like a boysanga comicsong one night to the amusement of the wholepartyassembled over their grog after supperandrenderedhimself so gaylivelyand amiable that evenCaptainBraggwho thought there was nothing in hispassengerand considered he was a poor-spirited feller atfirstwasconstrained to own that the Major was areservedbut well-informed and meritorious officer.  "Heain't gotdistangy mannersdammy" Bragg observed tohis firstmate; "he wouldn't do at Government HouseRoperwhere his Lordship and Lady William was as kindto meandshook hands with me before the wholecompanyand asking me at dinner to take beer with himbefore theCommander-in-Chief himself; he ain't gotmannersbut there's something about him--" And thusCaptainBragg showed that he possessed discriminationas a manas well as ability as a commander.

But a calmtaking place when the Ramchunder waswithin tendays' sail of EnglandDobbin became soimpatientand ill-humoured as to surprise those comradeswho hadbefore admired his vivacity and good temper.He did notrecover until the breeze sprang up againandwas in ahighly excited state when the pilot came onboard. Good Godhow his heart beat as the two friendlyspires ofSouthampton came in sight.

CHAPTERLVIIIOurFriend the Major

Our Majorhad rendered himself so popular on boardtheRamchunder that when he and Mr. Sedley descendedinto thewelcome shore-boat which was to take themfrom theshipthe whole crewmen and officersthegreatCaptain Bragg himself leading offgave three cheersfor MajorDobbinwho blushed very much and duckedhis headin token of thanks.  Joswho very likely thoughtthe cheerswere for himselftook off his gold-laced capand wavedit majestically to his friendsand they werepulled toshore and landed with great dignity at the pierwhencethey proceeded to the Royal George Hotel.

Althoughthe sight of that magnificent round of beefand thesilver tankard suggestive of real British home-brewed aleand porterwhich perennially greet the eyesof thetraveller returning from foreign parts who entersthecoffee-room of the Georgeare so invigorating anddelightfulthat a man entering such a comfortable snughomelyEnglish inn might well like to stop some daysthereyetDobbin began to talk about a post-chaiseinstantlyand was no sooner at Southampton than hewished tobe on the road to London.  Joshoweverwouldnot hearof moving that evening.  Why was he to pass anight in apost-chaise instead of a great large undulatingdownyfeather-bed which was there ready to replacethe horridlittle narrow crib in which the portly Bengalgentlemanhad been confined during the voyage? Hecould notthink of moving till his baggage was clearedor oftravelling until he could do so with his chillum.  Sothe Majorwas forced to wait over that nightanddispatcheda letter to his family announcing his arrivalentreatingfrom Jos a promise to write to his ownfriends. Jos promisedbut didn't keep his promise.  TheCaptainthe surgeonand one or two passengers cameand dinedwith our two gentlemen at the innJos exertinghimself ina sumptuous way in ordering the dinnerandpromising to go to town the next day with the Major.Thelandlord said it did his eyes good to see Mr. Sedleytake offhis first pint of porter.  If I had time and daredto enterinto digressionsI would write a chapter aboutthat firstpint of porter drunk upon English ground.  Ahhow goodit is!  It is worth-while to leave home for ayearjustto enjoy that one draught.

MajorDobbin made his appearance the next morningveryneatly shaved and dressedaccording to his wont.Indeeditwas so early in the morning that nobody wasup in thehouse except that wonderful Boots of an innwho neverseems to want sleep; and the Major couldhear thesnores of the various inmates of the house roaringthroughthe corridors as he creaked about in thosedimpassages.  Then the sleepless Boots went shirkinground fromdoor to doorgathering up at each theBluchersWellingtonsOxonianswhich stood outside.  ThenJos'snative servant arose and began to get ready hismaster'sponderous dressing apparatus and prepare hishookah;then the maidservants got upand meeting thedark manin the passagesshriekedand mistook him forthedevil.  He and Dobbin stumbled over their pails inthepassages as they were scouring the decks of theRoyalGeorge.  When the first unshorn waiter appearedandunbarred the door of the innthe Major thought thatthe timefor departure was arrivedand ordered a post-chaise tobe fetched instantlythat they might set off.

He thendirected his steps to Mr. Sedley's room andopened thecurtains of the great large family bed whereinMr. Joswas snoring.  "Comeup!  Sedley" the Majorsaid"it's time to be off; the chaise will be at the door inhalf anhour."

Josgrowled from under the counterpane to knowwhat thetime was; but when he at last extorted from theblushingMajor (who never told fibshowever they mightbe to hisadvantage) what was the real hour of themorninghe broke out into a volley of bad languagewhichwe willnot repeat herebut by which he gave Dobbin tounderstandthat he would jeopardy his soul if he got upat thatmomentthat the Major might go and be hangedthat hewould not travel with Dobbinand that it wasmostunkind and ungentlemanlike to disturb a man outof hissleep in that way; on which the discomfited Majorwasobliged to retreatleaving Jos to resume hisinterruptedslumbers.

The chaisecame up presentlyand the Major wouldwait nolonger.

If he hadbeen an English nobleman travelling on apleasuretouror a newspaper courier bearing dispatches(governmentmessages are generally carried much morequietly)he could not have travelled more quickly.  Thepost-boyswondered at the fees he flung amongst them.How happyand green the country looked as the chaisewhirledrapidly from mile-stone to mile-stonethroughneatcountry towns where landlords came out towelcomehim with smiles and bows; by pretty roadside innswhere thesigns hung on the elmsand horses andwaggonerswere drinking under the chequered shadow of thetrees; byold halls and parks; rustic hamlets clusteredroundancient grey churches--and through the charmingfriendlyEnglish landscape.  Is there any in the worldlike it?To a traveller returning home it looks so kind--it seemsto shake hands with you as you pass through it.WellMajor Dobbin passed through all this fromSouthamptonto Londonand without noting much beyond themilestonesalong the road.  You see he was so eager tosee hisparents at Camberwell.

He grudgedthe time lost between Piccadilly and hisold hauntat the Slaughters'whither he drove faithfully.Long yearshad passed since he saw it lastsince he andGeorgeasyoung menhad enjoyed many a feastandheld manya revel there.  He had now passed into thestage ofold-fellow-hood.  His hair was grizzledand manya passionand feeling of his youth had grown grey in thatinterval. Therehoweverstood the old waiter at thedoorinthe same greasy black suitwith the samedoublechin and flaccid facewith the same huge bunch ofseals athis fobrattling his money in his pockets asbeforeand receiving the Major as if he had gone awayonly aweek ago.  "Put the Major's things in twenty-threethat's hisroom" John saidexhibiting not the leastsurprise. "Roast fowl for your dinnerI suppose.  You ain'tgotmarried? They said you was married--the Scotchsurgeon ofyours was here.  Noit was Captain Humby ofthethirty-thirdas was quartered with the --th in Injee.Like anywarm water? ~What do you come in a chay for--ain't thecoach good enough?" And with thisthe faithfulwaiterwho knew and remembered every officer whoused thehouseand with whom ten years were but asyesterdayled the way up to Dobbin's old roomwherestood thegreat moreen bedand the shabby carpetathoughtmore dingyand all the old black furniturecoveredwith faded chintzjust as the Major recollectedthem inhis youth.

Heremembered George pacing up and down the roomand bitinghis nailsand swearing that the Governor mustcomeroundand that if he didn'the didn't care a strawon the daybefore he was married.  He could fancy himwalkinginbanging the door of Dobbin's roomand hisown hardby--

"Youain't got young" John saidcalmly surveying hisfriend offormer days.

Dobbinlaughed.  "Ten years and a fever don't make aman youngJohn" he said.  "It is you that are alwaysyoung--noyou are always old."

"Whatbecame of Captain Osborne's widow?" Johnsaid. "Fine young fellow that.  Lordhow he used tospend hismoney.  He never came back after that day hewasmarched from here.  He owes me three pound at thisminute. Look hereI have it in my book.  'April 101815Captain Osborne:  '3pounds.' I wonder whether hisfatherwould pay me" and so sayingJohn of the Slaughters'pulled outthe very morocco pocket-book in whichhe hadnoted his loan to the Captainupon a greasyfaded pagestill extantwith many other scrawledmemorandaregarding the bygone frequenters of the house.

Havinginducted his customer into the roomJohnretiredwith perfect calmness; and Major Dobbinnotwithout ablush and a grin at his own absurditychose out ofhis kitthe very smartest and most becoming civilcostume hepossessedand laughed at his own tanned faceand greyhairas he surveyed them in the dreary littletoilet-glasson the dressing-table.

"I'mglad old John didn't forget me" he thought."She'llknow metooI hope." And he sallied out of theinnbending his steps once more in the direction ofBrompton.

Everyminute incident of his last meeting with Ameliawaspresent to the constant man's mind as he walkedtowardsher house.  The arch and the Achilles statue wereup sincehe had last been in Piccadilly; a hundredchangeshad occurred which his eye and mind vaguelynoted. He began to tremble as he walked up the lanefromBromptonthat well-remembered lane leading tothe streetwhere she lived.  Was she going to be marriedor not? Ifhe were to meet her with the little boy--GoodGodwhatshould he do? He saw a woman coming to himwith achild of five years old--was that she? He beganto shakeat the mere possibility.  When he came up tothe row ofhousesat lastwhere she livedand to thegatehecaught hold of it and paused.  He might haveheard thethumping of his own heart.  "May God Almightybless herwhatever has happened" he thought tohimself. "Psha!  she may be gone from here" he saidand wentin through the gate.

The windowof the parlour which she used to occupywas openand there were no inmates in the room.  TheMajorthought he recognized the pianothoughwith thepictureover itas it used to be in former daysand hisperturbationswere renewed.  Mr. Clapp's brass plate wasstill onthe doorat the knocker of which Dobbinperformeda summons.

Abuxom-looking lass of sixteenwith bright eyes andpurplecheekscame to answer the knock and lookedhard atthe Major as he leant back against the littleporch.

He was aspale as a ghost and could hardly falter outthewords--"Does Mrs. Osborne live here?"

She lookedhim hard in the face for a moment--andthenturning white too--said"Lord bless me--it'sMajorDobbin." She held out both her hands shaking--"Don'tyou remember me?" she said.  "I used to call youMajorSugarplums." On whichand I believe it was forthe firsttime that he ever so conducted himself in hislifetheMajor took the girl in his arms and kissed her.She beganto laugh and cry hystericallyand calling out"MaPa!" with all her voicebrought up those worthypeoplewho had already been surveying the Major fromthecasement of the ornamental kitchenand wereastonishedto find their daughter in the little passage intheembrace of a great tall man in a blue frock-coat andwhite ducktrousers.

"I'man old friend" he said--not without blushingthough. "Don't you remember meMrs. Clappand thosegood cakesyou used to make for tea? Don't you recollectmeClapp?I'm George's godfatherand just comeback fromIndia." A great shaking of hands ensued--Mrs. Clappwas greatly affected and delighted; she calleduponheaven to interpose a vast many times in thatpassage.

Thelandlord and landlady of the house led the worthyMajor intothe Sedleys' room (whereof he rememberedeverysingle article of furniturefrom the old brassornamentedpianoonce a natty little instrumentStothardmakertothe screens and the alabaster miniature tombstonein themidst of which ticked Mr. Sedley's goldwatch)and thereas he sat down in the lodger's vacantarm-chairthe fatherthe motherand the daughterwith athousand ejaculatory breaks in the narrativeinformedMajor Dobbin of what we know alreadybut ofparticularsin Amelia's history of which he was not aware--namelyof Mrs. Sedley's deathof George's reconcilementwith hisgrandfather Osborneof the way in whichthe widowtook on at leaving himand of other particularsof herlife.  Twice or thrice he was going to askabout themarriage questionbut his heart failed him.He did notcare to lay it bare to these people.  Finallyhe wasinformed that Mrs. O.  was gone to walk with herpa inKensington Gardenswhither she always went withthe oldgentleman (who was very weak and peevish nowand ledher a sad lifethough she behaved to him like anangeltobe sure)of a fine afternoonafter dinner.

"I'mvery much pressed for time" the Major said"andhave business to-night of importance.  I should liketo seeMrs. Osborne tho'.  Suppose Miss Polly wouldcome withme and show me the way?"

Miss Pollywas charmed and astonished at thisproposal. She knew the way.  She would show MajorDobbin. She had often been with Mr. Sedley when Mrs. O.wasgone--was gone Russell Square way--and knew thebenchwhere he liked to sit.  She bounced away to herapartmentand appeared presently in her best bonnetand hermamma's yellow shawl and large pebble broochof whichshe assumed the loan in order to make herselfa worthycompanion for the Major.

Thatofficerthenin his blue frock-coat and buckskinglovesgave the young lady his armand they walkedaway verygaily.  He was glad to have a friend at handfor thescene which he dreaded somehow.  He asked athousandmore questions from his companion aboutAmelia: his kind heart grieved to think that she shouldhave hadto part with her son.  How did she bear it? Didshe seehim often? Was Mr. Sedley pretty comfortablenow in aworldly point of view? Polly answered all thesequestionsof Major Sugarplums to the very best of herpower.

And in themidst of their walk an incident occurredwhichthough very simple in its naturewas productiveof thegreatest delight to Major Dobbin.  A pale youngman withfeeble whiskers and a stiff white neckcloth camewalkingdown the laneen sandwich--having a ladythatisoneach arm.  One was a tall and commanding middle-agedfemalewith features and a complexion similar tothose ofthe clergyman of the Church of England bywhose sideshe marchedand the other a stunted littlewoman witha dark faceornamented by a fine new bonnetand whiteribbonsand in a smart pelissewith a richgold watchin the midst of her person.  The gentlemanpinionedas he was by these two ladiescarried further aparasolshawland basketso that his arms were entirelyengagedand of course he was unable to touch his hat inacknowledgementof the curtsey with which Miss MaryClappgreeted him.

He merelybowed his head in reply to her salutationwhich thetwo ladies returned with a patronizing airandat thesame time looking severely at the individual in theblue coatand bamboo cane who accompanied Miss Polly.

"Who'sthat?" asked the Majoramused by the groupand afterhe had made way for the three to pass up thelane. Mary looked at him rather roguishly.

"Thatis our curatethe Reverend Mr. Binny (a twitchfrom MajorDobbin)and his sister Miss B.  Lord bless ushow shedid use to worret us at Sunday-school; and theotherladythe little one with a cast in her eye and thehandsomewatchis Mrs. Binny--Miss Grits that was;her pa wasa grocerand kept the Little Original GoldTea Pot inKensington Gravel Pits.  They were married lastmonthandare just come back from Margate.  She's fivethousandpound to her fortune; but her and Miss B.whomade thematchhave quarrelled already."

If theMajor had twitched beforehe started nowandslappedthe bamboo on the ground with an emphasiswhich madeMiss Clapp cry"Law" and laugh too.  Hestood fora momentsilentwith open mouthlookingafter theretreating young couplewhile Miss Mary toldtheirhistory; but he did not hear beyond the announcementof thereverend gentleman's marriage; his head wasswimmingwith felicity.  After this rencontre he began towalkdouble quick towards the place of his destination--and yetthey were too soon (for he was in a greattremor atthe idea of a meeting for which he had beenlongingany time these ten years)--through the Bromptonlanesandentering at the little old portal in KensingtonGardenwall.

"Therethey are" said Miss Pollyand she felt himagainstart back on her arm.  She was a confidante at onceof thewhole business.  She knew the story as well as ifshe hadread it in one of her favourite novel-books--FatherlessFannyor the Scottish Chiefs.

"Supposeyou were to run on and tell her" the Majorsaid. Polly ran forwardher yellow shawl streaming in thebreeze.

Old Sedleywas seated on a benchhis handkerchiefplacedover his kneesprattling awayaccording to hiswontwithsome old story about old times to whichAmelia hadlistened and awarded a patient smile manya timebefore.  She could of late think of her own affairsand smileor make other marks of recognition of herfather'sstoriesscarcely hearing a word of the old man'stales. As Mary came bouncing alongand Amelia caughtsight ofhershe started up from her bench.  Her firstthoughtwas that something had happened to Georgybut thesight of the messenger's eager and happy facedissipatedthat fear in the timorous mother's bosom.

"News! News!" cried the emissary of Major Dobbin."He'scome!  He's come!"

"Whois come?" said Emmystill thinking of her son.

"Lookthere" answered Miss Clappturning round andpointing;in which direction Amelia lookingsawDobbin'slean figure and long shadow stalking across thegrass. Amelia started in her turnblushed upandofcoursebegan to cry.  At all this simple little creature'sfetesthegrandes eaux were accustomed to play.He lookedat her--ohhow fondly--as she camerunningtowards himher hands before herready to givethem tohim.  She wasn't changed.  She was a little palea littlestouter in figure.  Her eyes were the samethekindtrustful eyes.  There were scarce three lines of silverin hersoft brown hair.  She gave him both her hands asshe lookedup flushing and smiling through her tears intohis honesthomely face.  He took the two little handsbetweenhis two and held them there.  He was speechlessfor amoment.  Why did he not take her in his arms andswear thathe would never leave her? She must haveyielded: she could not but have obeyed him.

"I--I'veanother arrival to announce" he said after apause.

"Mrs.Dobbin?" Amelia saidmaking a movementback--whydidn't he speak?

"No"he saidletting her hands go:  "Who has toldyou thoselies? I meanyour brother Jos came in thesame shipwith meand is come home to make you allhappy."

"PapaPapa!" Emmy cried out"here are news!  Mybrother isin England.  He is come to take care of you.Here isMajor Dobbin."

Mr. Sedleystarted upshaking a great deal and gatheringup histhoughts.  Then he stepped forward and made anold-fashionedbow to the Majorwhom he called Mr.Dobbinand hoped his worthy fatherSir Williamwasquitewell.  He proposed to call upon Sir Williamwho haddone himthe honour of a visit a short time ago.  SirWilliamhad not called upon the old gentleman for eightyears--itwas that visit he was thinking of returning.

"Heis very much shaken" Emmy whispered as Dobbinwent upand cordially shook hands with the old man.

Althoughhe had such particular business in Londonthateveningthe Major consented to forego it upon Mr.Sedley'sinvitation to him to come home and partake oftea. Amelia put her arm under that of her young friendwith theyellow shawl and headed the party on theirreturnhomewardsso that Mr. Sedley fell to Dobbin's share.The oldman walked very slowly and told a number ofancienthistories about himself and his poor Bessyhisformerprosperityand his bankruptcy.  His thoughtsas isusual withfailing old menwere quite in former times.Thepresentwith the exception of the one catastrophewhich hefelthe knew little about.  The Major was glad tolet himtalk on.  His eyes were fixed upon the figure infront ofhim--the dear little figure always present to hisimaginationand in his prayersand visiting his dreamswakeful orslumbering.

Amelia wasvery happysmilingand active all thateveningperforming her duties as hostess of the littleentertainmentwith the utmost grace and proprietyasDobbinthought.  His eyes followed her about as they satin thetwilight.  How many a time had he longed for thatmoment andthought of her far away under hot windsand inweary marchesgentle and happykindly ministeringto thewants of old ageand decorating poverty withsweetsubmission--as he saw her now.  I do not say thathis tastewas the highestor that it is the duty of greatintellectsto be content with a bread-and-butter paradisesuch assufficed our simple old friend; but his desireswere ofthis sortwhether for good or badandwithAmelia tohelp himhe was as ready to drink as manycups oftea as Doctor Johnson.

Ameliaseeing this propensitylaughingly encouragedit andlooked exceedingly roguish as she administered tohim cupafter cup.  It is true she did not know that theMajor hadhad no dinner and that the cloth was laid forhim at theSlaughters'and a plate laid thereon to markthat thetable was retainedin that very box in whichthe Majorand George had sat many a time carousingwhen shewas a child just come home from MissPinkerton'sschool.

The firstthing Mrs. Osborne showed the Major wasGeorgy'sminiaturefor which she ran upstairs on herarrival athome.  It was not half handsome enough ofcourse forthe boybut wasn't it noble of him to think ofbringingit to his mother? Whilst her papa was awake shedid nottalk much about Georgy.  To hear about Mr.Osborneand Russell Square was not agreeable to theold manwho very likely was unconscious that he hadbeenliving for some months past mainly on the bountyof hisricher rivaland lost his temper if allusion wasmade tothe other.

Dobbintold him alland a little more perhaps thanallthathad happened on board the RamchunderandexaggeratedJos's benevolent dispositions towards hisfather andresolution to make him comfortable in hisold days. The truth is that during the voyage the Majorhadimpressed this duty most strongly upon his fellow-passengerand extorted promises from him that he wouldtakecharge of his sister and her child.  He soothed Jos'sirritationwith regard to the bills which the old gentlemanhad drawnupon himgave a laughing account of hisownsufferings on the same score and of the famousconsignmentof wine with which the old man had favouredhimandbrought Mr. Joswho was by no means an ill-naturedperson when well-pleased and moderatelyflatteredto a very good state of feeling regarding hisrelativesin Europe.

And infine I am ashamed to say that the Majorstretchedthe truth so far as to tell old Mr. Sedley that itwas mainlya desire to see his parent which brought Josonce moreto Europe.

At hisaccustomed hour Mr. Sedley began to doze inhis chairand then it was Amelia's opportunity tocommenceher conversationwhich she did with greateagerness--itrelated exclusively to Georgy.  She did not talkat allabout her own sufferings at breaking from himforindeedthis worthy womanthough she was half-killedby theseparation from the childyet thought it was verywicked inher to repine at losing him; but everythingconcerninghimhis virtuestalentsand prospectsshepouredout.  She described his angelic beauty; narrateda hundredinstances of his generosity and greatness ofmindwhilst living with her; how a Royal Duchess hadstoppedand admired him in Kensington Gardens; howsplendidlyhe was cared for nowand how he had agroom anda pony; what quickness and cleverness hehadandwhat a prodigiously well-read and delightfulperson theReverend Lawrence Veal wasGeorge'smaster. "He knows EVERYTHING" Amelia said.  "He has themostdelightful parties.  You who are so learned yourselfand haveread so muchand are so clever andaccomplished--don'tshake your head and say no--HEalwaysused to say you were--you will be charmed withMr. Veal'sparties.  The last Tuesday in every month.  Hesays thereis no place in the bar or the senate thatGeorgy maynot aspire to.  Look here" and she went tothepiano-drawer and drew out a theme of Georgy'scomposition. This great effort of geniuswhich is stillin thepossession of George's motheris as follows:

OnSelfishness--Of all the vices which degrade thehumancharacterSelfishness is the most odious andcontemptible. An undue love of Self leads to the mostmonstrouscrimes and occasions the greatest misfortunes bothin Statesand Families.  As a selfish man will impoverishhis familyand often bring them to ruinso a selfishkingbrings ruin on his people and often plunges theminto war.

Example: The selfishness of Achillesas remarked bythe poetHomeroccasioned a thousand woes to theGreeks--muriAchaiois alge etheke--(Hom. Il. A. 2).Theselfishness of the late Napoleon Bonaparteoccasionedinnumerable wars in Europe and caused him toperishhimselfin a miserable island--that of Saint Helena intheAtlantic Ocean.

We see bythese examples that we are not to consultour owninterest and ambitionbut that we are toconsiderthe interests of others as well as our own.

George S. OsborneAtheneHouse24 April1827

"Thinkof him writing such a handand quoting Greektooathis age" the delighted mother said.  "OhWilliam"she addedholding out her hand to the Major"what atreasureHeaven has given me in that boy!  He is thecomfort ofmy life--and he is the image of--of him that'sgone!"

"OughtI to be angry with her for being faithful tohim?"William thought.  "Ought I to be jealous of myfriend inthe graveor hurt that such a heart as Amelia'scan loveonly once and for ever? OhGeorgeGeorgehow littleyou knew the prize you hadthough." Thissentimentpassed rapidly through William's mind as hewasholding Amelia's handwhilst the handkerchief wasveilingher eyes.

"Dearfriend" she saidpressing the hand which heldhers"howgoodhow kind you always have been to me!See! Papa is stirring.  You will go and see Georgytomorrowwon't you?" "Notto-morrow" said poor old Dobbin.  "I havebusiness."He did not like to own that he had not as yetbeen tohis parents' and his dear sister Anne--aremissnessfor which I am sure every well-regulatedpersonwill blame the Major.  And presently he took hisleaveleaving his address behind him for Josagainst thelatter'sarrival.  And so the first day was overand hehad seenher.

When hegot back to the Slaughters'the roast fowlwas ofcourse coldin which condition he ate it forsupper. And knowing what early hours his family keptandthat itwould be needless to disturb their slumbers at solate anhourit is on recordthat Major Dobbin treatedhimself tohalf-price at the Haymarket Theatre thateveningwhere let us hope he enjoyed himself.

CHAPTERLIXThe OldPiano

TheMajor's visit left old John Sedley in a great state ofagitationand excitement.  His daughter could not inducehim tosettle down to his customary occupations oramusementsthat night.  He passed the evening fumblingamongsthis boxes and desksuntying his papers withtremblinghandsand sorting and arranging them againstJos'sarrival.  He had them in the greatest order--histapes andhis fileshis receiptsand his letters withlawyersand correspondents; the documents relative tothe wineproject (which failed from a most unaccountableaccidentafter commencing with the most splendidprospects)the coal project (which only a want of capitalpreventedfrom becoming the most successful schemeever putbefore the public)the patent saw-mills andsawdustconsolidation project&c.&c.  All nightuntil avery latehourhe passed in the preparation of thesedocumentstrembling about from one room to anotherwith aquivering candle and shaky hands.  Here's the winepapershere's the sawdusthere's the coals; here's myletters toCalcutta and Madrasand replies from MajorDobbinC.B.and Mr. Joseph Sedley to the same.  "Heshall findno irregularity about MEEmmy" the oldgentlemansaid.

Emmysmiled.  "I don't think Jos will care about seeingthosepapersPapa" she said.

"Youdon't know anything about businessmy dear"answeredthe sireshaking his head with an importantair. And it must be confessed that on this point Emmywas veryignorantand that is a pity some people are soknowing. All these twopenny documents arranged on asidetableold Sedley covered them carefully over witha cleanbandanna handkerchief (one out of MajorDobbin'slot) and enjoined the maid and landlady of thehouseinthe most solemn waynot to disturb thosepaperswhich were arranged for the arrival of Mr. JosephSedley thenext morning"Mr. Joseph Sedley of theHonourableEast India Company's Bengal Civil Service."

Ameliafound him up very early the next morningmoreeagermore hecticand more shaky than ever.  "Ididn'tsleep muchEmmymy dear" he said.  "I wasthinkingof my poor Bessy.  I wish she was aliveto ridein Jos'scarriage once again.  She kept her own andbecame itvery well." And his eyes filled with tearswhichtrickleddown his furrowed old face.  Amelia wiped themawayandsmilingly kissed himand tied the old man'sneckclothin a smart bowand put his brooch into hisbest shirtfrillin whichin his Sunday suit of mourninghe satfrom six o'clock in the morning awaiting thearrival ofhis son.

Howeverwhen the postman made his appearancethelittleparty were put out of suspense by the receipt of aletterfrom Jos to his sisterwho announced that he felta littlefatigued after his voyageand should not be ableto move onthat daybut that he would leave Southamptonearly thenext morning and be with his father andmother atevening.  Ameliaas she read out the letter toherfatherpaused over the latter word; her brotheritwas cleardid not know what had happened in the family.Nor couldhefor the fact is thatthough the Majorrightlysuspected that his travelling companion neverwould begot into motion in so short a space as twenty-fourhoursand would find some excuse for delayingyetDobbin hadnot written to Jos to inform him of thecalamitywhich had befallen the Sedley familybeingoccupiedin talking with Amelia until long after post-hour.

There aresome splendid tailors' shops in the HighStreet ofSouthamptonin the fine plate-glass windowsof whichhang gorgeous waistcoats of all sortsof silkandvelvetand gold and crimsonand pictures of thelast newfashionsin which those wonderful gentlemenwithquizzing glassesand holding on to little boys withtheexceeding large eyes and curly hairogle ladies inridinghabits prancing by the Statue of Achilles at ApsleyHouse. Josalthough provided with some of the mostsplendidvests that Calcutta could furnishthought hecould notgo to town until he was supplied with one ortwo ofthese garmentsand selected a crimson satinembroideredwith gold butterfliesand a black and redvelvettartan with white stripes and a rolling collarwithwhichanda rich blue satin stock and a gold pinconsistingof a five-barred gate with a horseman in pinkenameljumping over ithe thought he might make hisentry intoLondon with some dignity.  For Jos's formershynessand blundering blushing timidity had given wayto a morecandid and courageous self-assertion of hisworth. "I don't care about owning it" Waterloo Sedleywould sayto his friends"I am a dressy man"; andthoughrather uneasy if the ladies looked at him at theGovernmentHouse ballsand though he blushed andturnedaway alarmed under their glancesit was chieflyfrom adread lest they should make love to him that heavoidedthembeing averse to marriage altogether.  Butthere wasno such swell in Calcutta as Waterloo SedleyI haveheard sayand he had the handsomest turn-outgave thebest bachelor dinnersand had the finest platein thewhole place.

To makethese waistcoats for a man of his size anddignitytook at least a daypart of which he employed inhiring aservant to wait upon him and his native and ininstructingthe agent who cleared his baggagehis boxeshis bookswhich he never readhis chests of mangoeschutneyand curry-powdershis shawls for presents topeoplewhom he didn't know as yetand the rest of hisPersicosapparatus.

At lengthhe drove leisurely to London on the thirdday and inthe new waistcoatthe nativewith chatteringteethshuddering in a shawl on the box by the side of thenewEuropean servant; Jos puffing his pipe at intervalswithin andlooking so majestic that the little boys criedHoorayand many people thought he must be aGovernor-General. HEI promisedid not decline theobsequiousinvitation of the landlords to alight and refreshhimself inthe neat country towns.  Having partaken of acopiousbreakfastwith fishand riceand hard eggsatSouthamptonhe had so far rallied at Winchester as tothink aglass of sherry necessary.  At Alton he steppedout of thecarriage at his servant's request and imbibedsome ofthe ale for which the place is famous.  At Farnhamhe stoppedto view the Bishop's Castle and to partakeof a lightdinner of stewed eelsveal cutletsandFrenchbeanswith a bottle of claret.  He was cold overBagshotHeathwhere the native chattered more andmoreandJos Sahib took some brandy-and-water; infactwhenhe drove into town he was as full of winebeermeatpicklescherry-brandyand tobacco as thesteward'scabin of a steam-packet.  It was evening whenhiscarriage thundered up to the little door in Bromptonwhitherthe affectionate fellow drove firstand beforehieing tothe apartments secured for him by Mr. Dobbinat theSlaughters'.

All thefaces in the street were in the windows; thelittlemaidservant flew to the wicket-gate; the MesdamesClapplooked out from the casement of the ornamentedkitchen;Emmyin a great flutterwas in the passageamong thehats and coats; and old Sedley in the parlourinsideshaking all over.  Jos descended from the post-chaise anddown the creaking swaying steps in awfulstatesupported by the new valet from Southampton andtheshuddering nativewhose brown face was now lividwith coldand of the colour of a turkey's gizzard.  Hecreated animmense sensation in the passage presentlywhere Mrs.and Miss Clappcoming perhaps to listenat theparlour doorfound Loll Jewab shaking upon thehall-benchunder the coatsmoaning in a strange piteouswayandshowing his yellow eyeballs and white teeth.

Foryouseewe have adroitly shut the door upon themeetingbetween Jos and the old father and the poor littlegentlesister inside.  The old man was very much affected;soofcoursewas his daughter; nor was Jos withoutfeeling. In that long absence of ten yearsthe most selfishwill thinkabout home and early ties.  Distance sanctifiesboth. Long brooding over those lost pleasures exaggeratestheircharm and sweetness.  Jos was unaffectedly glad tosee andshake the hand of his fatherbetween whomandhimself there had been a coolness--glad to see hislittlesisterwhom he remembered so pretty and smilingand painedat the alteration which timegriefandmisfortunehad made in the shattered old man.  Emmy hadcome outto the door in her black clothes and whisperedto him ofher mother's deathand not to speak of it totheirfather.  There was no need of this cautionfor theelderSedley himself began immediately to speak of theeventandprattled about itand wept over it plenteously.It shockedthe Indian not a little and made him think ofhimselfless than the poor fellow was accustomed to do.

The resultof the interview must have been verysatisfactoryfor when Jos had reascended his post-chaiseand haddriven away to his hotelEmmy embraced her fathertenderlyappealing to him with an air of triumphandasking theold man whether she did not always say thatherbrother had a good heart?

IndeedJoseph Sedleyaffected by the humble positionin whichhe found his relationsand in the expansivenessandoverflowing of heart occasioned by the first meetingdeclaredthat they should never suffer want ordiscomfortany morethat he was at home for some timeat anyrateduring which his house and everything hehad shouldbe theirs:  and that Amelia would look verypretty atthe head of his table--until she would acceptone of herown.

She shookher head sadly and hadas usualrecourseto thewaterworks.  She knew what he meant.  She andher youngconfidanteMiss Maryhad talked over themattermost fullythe very night of the Major's visitbeyondwhich time the impetuous Polly could not refrainfromtalking of the discovery which she had madeanddescribingthe start and tremor of joy by which MajorDobbinbetrayed himself when Mr. Binny passed with hisbride andthe Major learned that he had no longer arival tofear.  "Didn't you see how he shook all overwhen youasked if he was married and he said'Who toldyou thoselies?' OhM'am" Polly said"he never kept hiseyes offyouand I'm sure he's grown grey athinking ofyou."

ButAmelialooking up at her bedover which hungtheportraits of her husband and sontold her youngprotegeeneverneverto speak on that subject again;that MajorDobbin had been her husband's dearest friendand herown and George's most kind and affectionateguardian;that she loved him as a brother--but that awoman whohad been married to such an angel as thatand shepointed to the wallcould never think of anyotherunion.  Poor Polly sighed:  she thought what sheshould doif young Mr. Tomkinsat the surgerywhoalwayslooked at her so at churchand whoby thosemereaggressive glances had put her timorous little heartinto sucha flutter that she was ready to surrender atonce--whatshe should do if he were to die? She knewhe wasconsumptivehis cheeks were so red and he wassouncommon thin in the waist.

Not thatEmmybeing made aware of the honestMajor'spassionrebuffed him in any wayor feltdispleasedwith him.  Such an attachment from so true andloyal agentleman could make no woman angry.Desdemonawas not angry with Cassiothough there isverylittle doubt she saw the Lieutenant's partiality forher (and Ifor my part believe that many more thingstook placein that sad affair than the worthy Moorishofficerever knew of); whyMiranda was even very kindtoCalibanand we may be pretty sure for the samereason. Not that she would encourage him in the least--the pooruncouth monster--of course not.  No morewould Emmyby any means encourage her admirertheMajor. She would give him that friendly regardwhichso muchexcellence and fidelity merited; she would treathim withperfect cordiality and frankness until he madehisproposalsand THEN it would be time enough for herto speakand to put an end to hopes which never could berealized.

She sleptthereforevery soundly that eveningaftertheconversation with Miss Pollyand was more thanordinarilyhappyin spite of Jos's delaying.  "I am gladhe is notgoing to marry that Miss O'Dowd" she thought."ColonelO'Dowd never could have a sister fit for suchanaccomplished man as Major William." Who was thereamongsther little circle who would make him a goodwife? NotMiss Binnyshe was too old and ill-tempered;MissOsborne? too old too.  Little Polly was too young.Mrs.Osborne could not find anybody to suit the Majorbefore shewent to sleep.

The samemorning brought Major Dobbin a letter to theSlaughters'Coffee-house from his friend at Southamptonbeggingdear Dob to excuse Jos for being in a rage whenawakenedthe day before (he had a confounded headacheand wasjust in his first sleep)and entreating Dob toengagecomfortable rooms at the Slaughters' for Mr. Sedleyand hisservants.  The Major had become necessary toJos duringthe voyage.  He was attached to himand hungupon him. The other passengers were away to London.YoungRicketts and little Chaffers went away on thecoach thatday--Ricketts on the boxand taking thereins fromBotley; the Doctor was off to his family atPortsea;Bragg gone to town to his co-partners; and thefirst matebusy in the unloading of the Ramchunder.  Mr.Joe wasvery lonely at Southamptonand got the landlordof theGeorge to take a glass of wine with him thatdayatthe very hour at which Major Dobbin wasseated atthe table of his fatherSir Williamwhere hissisterfound out (for it was impossible for the Major totell fibs)that he had been to see Mrs. George Osborne.

Jos was socomfortably situated in St.  Martin's Lanehecouldenjoy his hookah there with such perfect easeandcouldswagger down to the theatreswhen mindedsoagreeablythatperhapshe would have remainedaltogetherat the Slaughters' had not his friendthe Majorbeen athis elbow.  That gentleman would not let theBengaleerest until he had executed his promise of havinga home forAmelia and his father.  Jos was a soft fellowinanybody's handsDobbin most active in anybody'sconcernsbut his own; the civilian wasthereforean easyvictim tothe guileless arts of this good-natured diplomatistand wasready to doto purchasehireor relinquishwhateverhis friend thought fit.  Loll Jewabof whom theboys aboutSt.  Martin's Lane used to make cruel funwheneverhe showed his dusky countenance in the streetwassent backto Calcutta in the Lady Kicklebury EastIndiamanin which Sir William Dobbin had a sharehavingpreviouslytaught Jos's European the art of preparingcurriespilausand pipes.  It was a matter of great delightandoccupation to Jos to superintend the building of asmartchariot which he and the Major ordered in theneighbouringLong Acre:  and a pair of handsome horseswerejobbedwith which Jos drove about in state in theparkorto call upon his Indian friends.  Amelia was notseldom byhis side on these excursionswhen also MajorDobbinwould be seen in the back seat of the carriage.At othertimes old Sedley and his daughter tookadvantageof itand Miss Clappwho frequentlyaccompaniedher friendhad great pleasure in being recognizedas she satin the carriagedressed in the famous yellowshawlbythe young gentleman at the surgerywhose facemightcommonly be seen over the window-blinds as shepassed.

Shortlyafter Jos's first appearance at Bromptonadismalsceneindeedtook place at that humble cottage atwhich theSedleys had passed the last ten years of theirlife. Jos's carriage (the temporary onenot the chariotunderconstruction) arrived one day and carried off oldSedley andhis daughter--to return no more.  The tearsthat wereshed by the landlady and the landlady'sdaughterat that event were as genuine tears of sorrow as anythat havebeen outpoured in the course of this history.In theirlong acquaintanceship and intimacy they couldnot recalla harsh word that had been uttered by AmeliaShe hadbeen all sweetness and kindnessalwaysthankfulalways gentleeven when Mrs. Clapp lost her owntemper andpressed for the rent.  When the kind creaturewas goingaway for good and allthe landlady reproachedherselfbitterly for ever having used a rough expression toher--howshe weptas they stuck up with wafers on thewindowapaper notifying that the little rooms so longoccupiedwere to let!  They never would have such lodgersagainthat was quite clear.  After-life proved the truth ofthismelancholy prophecyand Mrs. Clapp revengedherselffor the deterioration of mankind by levying the mostsavagecontributions upon the tea-caddies and legs ofmutton ofher locataires.  Most of them scolded andgrumbled;some of them did not pay; none of them stayed.Thelandlady might well regret those oldold friendswhohad lefther.

As forMiss Maryher sorrow at Amelia's departurewas suchas I shall not attempt to depict.  From childhoodupwardsshe had been with her daily and had attachedherself sopassionately to that dear good lady that whenthe grandbarouche came to carry her off into splendourshefainted in the arms of her friendwho was indeedscarcelyless affected than the good-natured girl.  Amelialoved herlike a daughter.  During eleven years the girl hadbeen herconstant friend and associate.  The separation wasa verypainful one indeed to her.  But it was of coursearrangedthat Mary was to come and stay often at thegrand newhouse whither Mrs. Osborne was goingandwhere Marywas sure she would never be so happy asshe hadbeen in their humble cotas Miss Clapp called itin thelanguage of the novels which she loved.

Let ushope she was wrong in her judgement.  PoorEmmy'sdays of happiness had been very few in thathumblecot.  A gloomy Fate had oppressed her there.  Sheneverliked to come back to the house after she had leftitor toface the landlady who had tyrannized over herwhenill-humoured and unpaidor when pleased hadtreatedher with a coarse familiarity scarcely less odious.Herservility and fulsome compliments when Emmy wasinprosperity were not more to that lady's liking.  Shecast aboutnotes of admiration all over the new houseextollingevery article of furniture or ornament; shefingeredMrs. Osborne's dresses and calculated their price.Nothingcould be too good for that sweet ladyshevowed andprotested.  But in the vulgar sycophant whonow paidcourt to herEmmy always remembered thecoarsetyrant who had made her miserable many a timeto whomshe had been forced to put up petitions fortimewhenthe rent was overdue; who cried out at herextravaganceif she bought delicacies for her ailing motheror father;who had seen her humble and trampled uponher.

Nobodyever heard of these griefswhich had beenpart ofour poor little woman's lot in life.  She kept themsecretfrom her fatherwhose improvidence was the causeof much ofher misery.  She had to bear all the blame ofhismisdoingsand indeed was so utterly gentle andhumble asto be made by nature for a victim.

I hope sheis not to suffer much more of that hardusage. Andas in all griefs there is said to be someconsolationI may mention that poor Marywhen left at herfriend'sdeparture in a hysterical conditionwas placedunder themedical treatment of the young fellow fromthesurgeryunder whose care she rallied after a shortperiod. Emmywhen she went away from BromptonendowedMary with every article of furniture that the housecontainedonly taking away her pictures (the twopicturesover the bed) and her piano--that little old pianowhich hadnow passed into a plaintive jingling old agebut whichshe loved for reasons of her own.  She was achild whenfirst she played on itand her parents gave ither. It had been given to her again sinceas the readermayrememberwhen her father's house was gone to ruinand theinstrument was recovered out of the wreck.

MajorDobbin was exceedingly pleased whenas hewassuperintending the arrangements of Jos's new house--whichthe Major insisted should be very handsome andcomfortable--thecart arrived from Bromptonbringingthe trunksand bandboxes of the emigrants from thatvillageand with them the old piano.  Amelia would have itup in hersitting-rooma neat little apartment on thesecondflooradjoining her father's chamberand wherethe oldgentleman sat commonly of evenings.

When themen appeared then bearing this old music-boxandAmelia gave orders that it should be placedin thechamber aforesaidDobbin was quite elated.  "I'mgladyou've kept it" he said in a very sentimentalmanner. "I was afraid you didn't care about it."

"Ivalue it more than anything I have in the world"saidAmelia.

"DoyouAmelia?" cried the Major.  The fact wasas he hadbought it himselfthough he never saidanythingabout itit never entered into his head to supposethat Emmyshould think anybody else was the purchaserand as amatter of course he fancied that she knew thegift camefrom him.  "Do youAmelia?" he said; andthequestionthe great question of allwas tremblingon hislipswhen Emmy replied--

"CanI do otherwise?--did not he give it me?"

"Idid not know" said poor old Doband hiscountenancefell.

Emmy didnot note the circumstance at the timenortakeimmediate heed of the very dismal expression whichhonestDobbin's countenance assumedbut she thoughtof itafterwards.  And then it struck herwith inexpressiblepain andmortification toothat it was William whowas thegiver of the pianoand not Georgeas she hadfancied. It was not George's gift; the only one which shehadreceived from her loveras she thought--the thingshe hadcherished beyond all others--her dearest relicandprize.  She had spoken to it about George; playedhisfavourite airs upon it; sat for long evening hourstouchingto the best of her simple artmelancholyharmonieson the keysand weeping over them in silence.It was notGeorge's relic.  It was valueless now.  The nexttime thatold Sedley asked her to playshe said it wasshockinglyout of tunethat she had a headachethatshecouldn't play.

Thenaccording to her customshe rebuked herselffor herpettishness and ingratitude and determined tomake areparation to honest William for the slight shehad notexpressed to himbut had felt for his piano.A few daysafterwardsas they were seated in thedrawing-roomwhere Jos had fallen asleep with great comfortafterdinnerAmelia said with rather a faltering voiceto MajorDobbin--

"Ihave to beg your pardon for something."

"Aboutwhat?" said he.

"About--aboutthat little square piano.  I never thankedyou for itwhen you gave it memanymany years agobefore Iwas married.  I thought somebody else had givenit. Thank youWilliam." She held out her handbut thepoorlittle woman's heart was bleeding; and as for hereyesofcourse they were at their work.

ButWilliam could hold no more.  "AmeliaAmelia"he said"I did buy it for you.  I loved you then as Ido now. I must tell you.  I think I loved you from thefirstminute that I saw youwhen George brought me toyourhouseto show me the Amelia whom he wasengagedto.  You were but a girlin whitewith largeringlets;you came down singing--do you remember?--and wewent to Vauxhall.  Since then I have thought ofbut onewoman in the worldand that was you.  Ithinkthere is no hour in the day has passed for twelveyears thatI haven't thought of you.  I came to tell youthisbefore I went to Indiabut you did not careandI hadn'tthe heart to speak.  You did not care whetherI stayedor went."

"Iwas very ungrateful" Amelia said.

"Noonly indifferent" Dobbin continued desperately."Ihave nothing to make a woman to be otherwise.  Iknow whatyou are feeling now.  You are hurt in yourheart atthe discovery about the pianoand that it camefrom meand not from George.  I forgotor I shouldnever havespoken of it so.  It is for me to ask yourpardon forbeing a fool for a momentand thinkingthat yearsof constancy and devotion might have pleadedwith you."

"Itis you who are cruel now" Amelia said with somespirit. "George is my husbandhere and in heaven.  Howcould Ilove any other but him? I am his now as whenyou firstsaw medear William.  It was he who told mehow goodand generous you wereand who taught meto loveyou as a brother.  Have you not been everythingto me andmy boy? Our dearesttruestkindest friendandprotector? Had you come a few months soonerperhapsyou might have spared me that--that dreadfulparting. Ohit nearly killed meWilliam--but you didn'tcomethough I wished and prayed for you to comeand theytook him too away from me.  Isn't he a nobleboyWilliam? Be his friend still and mine"--and here hervoicebrokeand she hid her face on his shoulder.

The Majorfolded his arms round herholding her tohim as ifshe was a childand kissed her head.  "I willnotchangedear Amelia" he said.  "I ask for no morethan yourlove.  I think I would not have it otherwise.Only letme stay near you and see you often."

"Yesoften" Amelia said.  And so William was atliberty tolook and long--as the poor boy at schoolwho has nomoney may sigh after the contents of thetart-woman'stray.

CHAPTER LXReturnsto the Genteel World

Goodfortune now begins to smile upon Amelia.  We areglad toget her out of that low sphere in which she hasbeencreeping hitherto and introduce her into a politecircle--notso grand and refined as that in which ourotherfemale friendMrs. Beckyhas appearedbut stillhaving nosmall pretensions to gentility and fashion.  Jos'sfriendswere all from the three presidenciesand his newhouse wasin the comfortable Anglo-Indian district ofwhichMoira Place is the centre.  Minto SquareGreatCliveStreetWarren StreetHastings StreetOchterlonyPlacePlassy SquareAssaye Terrace ("gardens" wasafelicitous word not applied to stucco houses withasphaltterraces in frontso early as 1827)--who does notknow theserespectable abodes of the retired Indianaristocracyand the quarter which Mr. Wenham calls theBlackHolein a word? Jos's position in life was not grandenough toentitle him to a house in Moira Placewherenone canlive but retired Members of Councilandpartnersof Indian firms (who breakafter having settled ahundredthousand pounds on their wivesand retire intocomparativepenury to a country place and four thousanda year);he engaged a comfortable house of asecond- orthird-rate order in Gillespie Streetpurchasing thecarpetscostly mirrorsand handsome and appropriateplannedfurniture by Seddons from the assignees of Mr.Scapelately admitted partner into the great CalcuttaHouse ofFogleFakeand Cracksmanin which poorScape hadembarked seventy thousand poundstheearningsof a long and honourable lifetaking Fake's placewhoretired to a princely park in Sussex (the Fogles havebeen longout of the firmand Sir Horace Fogle is aboutto beraised to the peerage as Baron Bandanna)--admittedI saypartner into the great agency house of Fogleand Faketwo years before it failed for a million andplungedhalf the Indian public into misery and ruin.

Scaperuinedhonestand broken-hearted at sixty-fiveyears ofagewent out to Calcutta to wind up the affairsof thehouse.  Walter Scape was withdrawn from Etonand putinto a merchant's house.  Florence ScapeFannyScapeandtheir mother faded away to Boulogneandwill beheard of no more.  To be briefJos stepped in andboughttheir carpets and sideboards and admiredhimself inthe mirrors which had reflected their kindhandsomefaces.  The Scape tradesmenall honourably paidleft theircardsand were eager to supply the newhousehold. The large men in white waistcoats who waited atScape'sdinnersgreengrocersbank-portersandmilkmen intheir private capacityleft their addresses andingratiatedthemselves with the butler.  Mr. Chummythechimney-purifierwho had swept the last three familiestried tocoax the butler and the boy under himwhoseduty itwas to go out covered with buttons and withstripesdown his trousersfor the protection of Mrs.Ameliawhenever she chose to walk abroad.

It was amodest establishment.  The butler was Jos'svaletalsoand never was more drunk than a butler in asmallfamily should be who has a proper regard for hismaster'swine.  Emmy was supplied with a maidgrown onSirWilliam Dobbin's suburban estate; a good girlwhosekindnessand humility disarmed Mrs. Osbornewho wasat firstterrified at the idea of having a servant to waituponherselfwho did not in the least know how to useoneandwho always spoke to domestics with the mostreverentialpoliteness.  But this maid was very useful inthefamilyin dexterously tending old Mr. Sedleywhokeptalmost entirely to his own quarter of the houseand nevermixed in any of the gay doings which tookplacethere.

Numbers ofpeople came to see Mrs. Osborne.  LadyDobbin anddaughters were delighted at her change offortuneand waited upon her.  Miss Osborne from RussellSquarecame in her grand chariot with the flaminghammer-clothemblazoned with the Leeds arms.  Jos wasreportedto be immensely rich.  Old Osborne had noobjectionthat Georgy should inherit his uncle's property aswell ashis own.  "Damn itwe will make a man of thefeller"he said; "and I'll see him in Parliament before Idie. You may go and see his motherMiss O.though I'llnever seteyes on her":  and Miss Osborne came.  Emmyyou may besurewas very glad to see herand so bebroughtnearer to George.  That young fellow wasallowed tocome much more frequently than before to visithismother.  He dined once or twice a week in GillespieStreet andbullied the servants and his relations therejustas he didin Russell Square.

He wasalways respectful to Major Dobbinhoweverand moremodest in his demeanour when that gentlemanwaspresent.  He was a clever lad and afraid of theMajor. George could not help admiring his friend'ssimplicityhis good humourhis various learning quietlyimpartedhis general love of truth and justice.  He had metno suchman as yet in the course of his experienceandhe had aninstinctive liking for a gentleman.  He hungfondly byhis godfather's sideand it was his delight towalk inthe parks and hear Dobbin talk.  William toldGeorgeabout his fatherabout India and Waterlooabouteverythingbut himself.  When George was more thanusuallypert and conceitedthe Major made jokes at himwhich Mrs.Osborne thought very cruel.  One daytakinghim to theplayand the boy declining to go into the pitbecause itwas vulgarthe Major took him to the boxesleft himthereand went down himself to the pit.  Hehad notbeen seated there very long before he felt an armthrustunder his and a dandy little hand in a kid glovesqueezinghis arm.  George had seen the absurdity of hisways andcome down from the upper region.  A tenderlaugh ofbenevolence lighted up old Dobbin's face andeyes as helooked at the repentant little prodigal.  Heloved theboyas he did everything that belonged toAmelia. How charmed she was when she heard of thisinstanceof George's goodness!  Her eyes looked morekindly onDobbin than they ever had done.  She blushedhethoughtafter looking at him so.

Georgynever tired of his praises of the Major to hismother. "I like himMammabecause he knows such lotsof things;and he ain't like old Vealwho is alwaysbraggingand using such long wordsdon't you know? Thechaps callhim 'Longtail' at school.  I gave him the name;ain't itcapital? But Dob reads Latin like EnglishandFrench andthat; and when we go out together he tells mestoriesabout my Papaand never about himself; though IheardColonel Bucklerat Grandpapa'ssay that he wasone of thebravest officers in the armyand haddistinguishedhimself ever so much.  Grandpapa was quitesurprisedand said'THAT feller!  WhyI didn't think he couldsay Bo toa goose'--but l know he couldcouldn't heMamma?"

Emmylaughed:  she thought it was very likely theMajorcould do thus much.

If therewas a sincere liking between George and theMajoritmust be confessed that between the boy and hisuncle nogreat love existed.  George had got a way ofblowingout his cheeksand putting his hands in hiswaistcoatpocketsand saying"God bless my soulyou don'tsay so"so exactly after the fashion of old Jos that it wasimpossibleto refrain from laughter.  The servants wouldexplode atdinner if the ladasking for something whichwasn't attableput on that countenance and used thatfavouritephrase.  Even Dobbin would shoot out a suddenpeal atthe boy's mimicry.  If George did not mimic hisuncle tohis faceit was only by Dobbin's rebukes andAmelia'sterrified entreaties that the little scapegrace wasinduced todesist.  And the worthy civilian being hauntedby a dimconsciousness that the lad thought him an assand wasinclined to turn him into ridiculeused to beextremelytimorous andof coursedoubly pompous anddignifiedin the presence of Master Georgy.  When it wasannouncedthat the young gentleman was expected inGillespieStreet to dine with his motherMr. Joscommonlyfound that he had an engagement at the Club.Perhapsnobody was much grieved at his absence.  Onthose daysMr. Sedley would commonly be induced tocome outfrom his place of refuge in the upper storiesand therewould be a small family partywhereof MajorDobbinpretty generally formed one.  He was the ami delamaison--old Sedley's friendEmmy's friendGeorgy'sfriendJos's counsel and adviser.  "He might almost aswell be atMadras for anything WE see of him" MissAnn Dobbinremarked at Camberwell.  Ah!  Miss Anndidit notstrike you that it was not YOU whom the Majorwanted tomarry?

JosephSedley then led a life of dignified otiosity suchas becamea person of his eminence.  His very first pointof coursewas to become a member of the Oriental Clubwhere hespent his mornings in the company of hisbrotherIndianswhere he dinedor whence he broughthome mento dine.

Amelia hadto receive and entertain these gentlemenand theirladies.  From these she heard how soon Smithwould bein Council; how many lacs Jones had broughthome withhimhow Thomson's House in London hadrefusedthe bills drawn by ThomsonKibobjeeand Co.the BombayHouseand how it was thought the CalcuttaHouse mustgo too; how very imprudentto say theleast ofitMrs. Brown's conduct (wife of Brown of theAhmednuggurIrregulars) had been with young Swankeyof theBody Guardsitting up with him on deck until allhoursandlosing themselves as they were riding out atthe Cape;how Mrs. Hardyman had had out her thirteensistersdaughters of a country curatethe Rev:  FelixRabbitsand married eleven of themseven high up intheservice; how Hornby was wild because his wifewould stayin Europeand Trotter was appointedCollectorat Ummerapoora.  This and similar talk took placeat thegrand dinners all round.  They had the sameconversation;the same silver dishes; the same saddles ofmuttonboiled turkeysand entrees.  Politics set in ashort timeafter dessertwhen the ladies retired upstairsand talkedabout their complaints and their children.

Mutatonomineit is all the same.  Don't the barristers'wives talkabout Circuit? Don't the soldiers' ladiesgossipabout the Regiment? Don't the clergymen's ladiesdiscourseabout Sunday-schools and who takes whose duty?Don't thevery greatest ladies of all talk about that smallclique ofpersons to whom they belong? And why shouldour Indianfriends not have their own conversation?--only Iadmit it is slow for the laymen whose fate itsometimesis to sit by and listen.

Beforelong Emmy had a visiting-bookand was drivingaboutregularly in a carriagecalling upon Lady Bludyer(wife ofMajor-General Sir Roger BludyerK.C.B.BengalArmy);Lady Huffwife of Sir G.  HuffBombay ditto;Mrs. Picethe Lady of Pice the Director&c.  We are notlong inusing ourselves to changes in life.  That carriagecame roundto Gillespie Street every day; that buttonyboy sprangup and down from the box with Emmy's andJos'svisiting-cards; at stated hours Emmy and thecarriagewent for Jos to the Club and took him an airing;orputting old Sedley into the vehicleshe drove the oldman roundthe Regent's Park.  The lady's maid and thechariotthe visiting-book and the buttony pagebecamesoon asfamiliar to Amelia as the humble routine ofBrompton. She accommodated herself to one as to theother. If Fate had ordained that she should be a Duchessshe wouldeven have done that duty too.  She was votedinJos'sfemale societyrather a pleasing young person--not muchin herbut pleasingand that sort of thing.

The menas usualliked her artless kindness andsimplerefined demeanour.  The gallant young Indian dandiesat home onfurlough--immense dandies these--chainedandmoustached--driving in tearing cabsthe pillars ofthetheatresliving at West End hotels--neverthelessadmiredMrs. Osborneliked to bow to her carriage in theparkandto be admitted to have the honour of payingher amorning visit.  Swankey of the Body Guardhimselfthat dangerous youthand the greatest buck of allthe Indianarmy now on leavewas one day discoveredby MajorDobbin tete-a-tete with Ameliaanddescribingthe sport of pig-sticking to her with great humour andeloquence;and he spoke afterwards of a d--d king'sofficerthat's always hanging about the house--a longthinqueer-lookingoldish fellow--a dry fellow thoughthat tookthe shine out of a man in the talking line.

Had theMajor possessed a little more personal vanityhe wouldhave been jealous of so dangerous a youngbuck asthat fascinating Bengal Captain.  But Dobbin wasof toosimple and generous a nature to have any doubtsaboutAmelia.  He was glad that the young men shouldpay herrespectand that others should admire her.  Eversince herwomanhood almosthad she not beenpersecutedand undervalued? It pleased him to see howkindnessbought out her good qualities and how her spiritsgentlyrose with her prosperity.  Any person whoappreciatedher paid a compliment to the Major's goodjudgement--thatisif a man may be said to have goodjudgementwho is under the influence of Love's delusion.

After Joswent to Courtwhich we may be sure hedid as aloyal subject of his Sovereign (showing himselfin hisfull court suit at the Clubwhither Dobbin cameto fetchhim in a very shabby old uniform) he who hadalwaysbeen a staunch Loyalist and admirer of GeorgeIVbecamesuch a tremendous Tory and pillar of theState thathe was for having Amelia to go to aDrawing-roomtoo.  He somehow had worked himself upto believethat he was implicated in the maintenance of thepublicwelfare and that the Sovereign would not be happyunless JosSedley and his family appeared to rally roundhim atSt.  James's.

Emmylaughed.  "Shall I wear the family diamondsJos?"she said.

"Iwish you would let me buy you some" thought theMajor. "I should like to see any that were too good foryou."

CHAPTERLXIInWhich Two Lights are Put Out

There camea day when the round of decorous pleasuresand solemngaieties in which Mr. Jos Sedley's familyindulgedwas interrupted by an event which happens inmosthouses.  As you ascend the staircase of your housefrom thedrawing towards the bedroom floorsyou mayhaveremarked a little arch in the wall right before youwhich atonce gives light to the stair which leads fromthe secondstory to the third (where the nursery andservants'chambers commonly are) and serves foranotherpurpose of utilityof which the undertaker's mencan giveyou a notion.  They rest the coffins upon thatarchorpass them through it so as not to disturb in anyunseemlymanner the cold tenant slumbering within theblack ark.

Thatsecond-floor arch in a London houselooking upand downthe well of the staircase and commanding themainthoroughfare by which the inhabitants are passing;by whichcook lurks down before daylight to scour herpots andpans in the kitchen; by which young masterstealthilyascendshaving left his boots in the hallandlethimself in after dawn from a jolly night at the Club;down whichmiss comes rustling in fresh ribbons andspreadingmuslinsbrilliant and beautifuland preparedforconquest and the ball; or Master Tommy slidespreferringthe banisters for a mode of conveyanceanddisdainingdanger and the stair; down which the mother isfondlycarried smiling in her strong husband's armsashe stepssteadily step by stepand followed by the monthlynurseonthe day when the medical man has pronouncedthat thecharming patient may go downstairs;up whichJohn lurks to bedyawningwith a sputteringtallowcandleand to gather up before sunrise the bootswhich areawaiting him in the passages--that stairup ordown whichbabies are carriedold people are helpedguests aremarshalled to the ballthe parson walks to thechristeningthe doctor to the sick-roomand theundertaker'smen to the upper floor--what a memento of LifeDeathandVanity it is--that arch and stair--if youchoose toconsider itand sit on the landinglooking upand downthe well!  The doctor will come up to us toofor thelast time theremy friend in motley.  The nursewill lookin at the curtainsand you take no notice--andthen shewill fling open the windows for a little and let inthe air. Then they will pull down all the front blinds of thehouse andlive in the back rooms--then they will sendfor thelawyer and other men in black&c.  Your comedyand minewill have been played thenand we shall beremovedohhow farfrom the trumpetsand the shoutingand theposture-making.  If we are gentlefolks theywill puthatchments over our late domicilewith giltcherubimand mottoes stating that there is "Quiet inHeaven."Your son will new furnish the houseorperhapslet itand go into a more modern quarter; yourname willbe among the "Members Deceased" in thelists ofyour clubs next year.  However much you may bemournedyour widow will like to have her weeds neatlymade--thecook will send or come up to ask aboutdinner--thesurvivor will soon bear to look at your pictureover themantelpiecewhich will presently be deposedfrom theplace of honourto make way for the portrait ofthe sonwho reigns.

Which ofthe dead are most tenderly and passionatelydeplored?Those who love the survivors the leastIbelieve. The death of a child occasions a passion of griefandfrantic tearssuch as your endbrother readerwillneverinspire.  The death of an infant which scarce knewyouwhicha week's absence from you would have causedto forgetyouwill strike you down more than the loss ofyourclosest friendor your first-born son--a man grownlikeyourselfwith children of his own.  We may be harshand sternwith Judah and Simeon--our love and pity gushout forBenjaminthe little one.  And if you are oldassomereader of this may be or shall be old and richorold andpoor--you may one day be thinking for yourself--"Thesepeople are very good round about mebutthey won'tgrieve too much when I am gone.  I am veryrichandthey want my inheritance--or very poorandthey aretired of supporting me."

The periodof mourning for Mrs. Sedley's death wasonly justconcludedand Jos scarcely had had time tocast offhis black and appear in the splendid waistcoatswhich helovedwhen it became evident to those aboutMr. Sedleythat another event was at handand that theold manwas about to go seek for his wife in the dark landwhithershe had preceded him.  "The state of my father'shealth"Jos Sedley solemnly remarked at the Club"preventsme from giving any LARGE parties this season:  but ifyou willcome in quietly at half-past sixChutneymyboyandfake a homely dinner with one or two of theold set--Ishall be always glad to see you." So Jos andhisacquaintances dined and drank their claret amongthemselvesin silencewhilst the sands of life wererunningout in the old man's glass upstairs.  The velvet-footedbutlerbrought them their wineand they composedthemselvesto a rubber after dinnerat which Major Dobbinwouldsometimes come and take a hand; and Mrs.Osbornewould occasionally descendwhen her patientabove wassettled for the nightand had commenced oneof thoselightly troubled slumbers which visit the pillowof oldage.

The oldman clung to his daughter during thissickness. He would take his broths and medicines fromscarcelyany other hand.  To tend him became almost thesolebusiness of her life.  Her bed was placed close by thedoor whichopened into his chamberand she was aliveat theslightest noise or disturbance from the couch ofthequerulous invalid.  Thoughto do him justicehe layawake manyan hoursilent and without stirringunwillingto awaken his kind and vigilant nurse.

He lovedhis daughter with more fondness nowperhapsthan ever he had done since the days of herchildhood. In the discharge of gentle offices and kind filialdutiesthis simple creature shone most especially.  "Shewalks intothe room as silently as a sunbeam" Mr.Dobbinthought as he saw her passing in and out from herfather'srooma cheerful sweetness lighting up her faceas shemoved to and frograceful and noiseless.  Whenwomen arebrooding over their childrenor busied in asick-roomwho has not seen in their faces those sweetangelicbeams of love and pity?

A secretfeud of some years' standing was thushealedand with a tacit reconciliation.  In these lasthoursandtouched by her love and goodnessthe oldman forgotall his grief against herand wrongs whichhe and hiswife had many a long night debated:  how shehad givenup everything for her boy; how she wascarelessof her parents in their old age and misfortuneandonlythought of the child; how absurdly and foolishlyimpiouslyindeedshe took on when George wasremovedfrom her.  Old Sedley forgot these charges as hewas makingup his last accountand did justice to thegentle anduncomplaining little martyr.  One night whenshe stoleinto his roomshe found him awakewhen thebroken oldman made his confession.  "OhEmmyI'vebeenthinking we were very unkind and unjust to you"he saidand put out his cold and feeble hand to her.  Sheknelt downand prayed by his bedsideas he did toohavingstill hold of her hand.  When our turn comesfriendmay wehave such company in our prayers!

Perhaps ashe was lying awake thenhis life may havepassedbefore him--his early hopeful struggleshis manlysuccessesand prosperityhis downfall in his decliningyearsandhis present helpless condition--no chance ofrevengeagainst Fortunewhich had had the better ofhim--neithername nor money to bequeath--a spent-outbootlesslife of defeat and disappointmentand theend here! WhichI wonderbrother readeris the betterlottodie prosperous and famousor poor anddisappointed?To haveand to be forced to yield; or tosink outof lifehaving played and lost the game? Thatmust be astrange feelingwhen a day of our life comesand wesay"To-morrowsuccess or failure won'tmattermuchand the sun will riseand all the myriads ofmankind goto their work or their pleasure as usualbutI shall beout of the turmoil."

So therecame one morning and sunrise when all theworld gotup and set about its various works andpleasureswith the exception of old John Sedleywho was notto fightwith fortuneor to hope or scheme any morebut to goand take up a quiet and utterly unknownresidencein a churchyard at Brompton by the side ofhis oldwife.

MajorDobbinJosand Georgy followed his remainsto thegravein a black cloth coach.  Jos came onpurposefrom the Star and Garter at Richmondwhither heretreatedafter the deplorable event.  He did not careto remainin the housewith the--under the circumstancesyouunderstand.  But Emmy stayed and did herduty asusual.  She was bowed down by no especial griefand rathersolemn than sorrowful.  She prayed that herown endmight be as calm and painlessand thoughtwith trustand reverence of the words which she hadheard fromher father during his illnessindicative of hisfaithhisresignationand his future hope.

YesIthink that will be the better ending of the twoafterall.  Suppose you are particularly rich and well-to-do and sayon that last day"I am very rich; I amtolerablywell known; I have lived all my life in the bestsocietyand thank Heavencome of a most respectablefamily. I have served my King and country with honour.I was inParliament for several yearswhereI may saymyspeeches were listened to and pretty well received.I don'towe any man a shilling:  on the contraryI lentmy oldcollege friendJack Lazarusfifty poundsfor whichmyexecutors will not press him.  I leave my daughterswith tenthousand pounds apiece--very good portionsfor girls;I bequeath my plate and furnituremy house inBakerStreetwith a handsome jointureto my widow forher life;and my landed propertybesides money in thefundsandmy cellar of well-selected wine in Baker Streetto myson.  I leave twenty pound a year to my valet; andI defy anyman after I have gone to find anything againstmycharacter." Or supposeon the other handyourswan singsquite a different sort of dirge and you say"I ama poor blighteddisappointed old fellowand havemade anutter failure through life.  I was not endowedeitherwith brains or with good fortuneand confessthat Ihave committed a hundred mistakes and blunders.I own tohaving forgotten my duty many a time.  I can'tpay what Iowe.  On my last bed I lie utterly helplessandhumbleand I pray forgiveness for my weakness andthrowmyselfwith a contrite heartat the feet of theDivineMercy." Which of these two speechesthinkyouwouldbe the best oration for your own funeral?Old Sedleymade the last; and in that humble frame ofmindandholding by the hand of his daughterlife anddisappointmentand vanity sank away from under him.

"Yousee" said old Osborne to George"what comesof meritand industryand judicious speculationsandthat. Look at me and my banker's account.  Look at yourpoorGrandfather Sedley and his failure.  And yet he wasa betterman than I wasthis day twenty years--a bettermanIshould sayby ten thousand pound."

Beyondthese people and Mr. Clapp's familywhocame overfrom Brompton to pay a visit of condolencenot asingle soul alive ever cared a penny piece aboutold JohnSedleyor remembered the existence of such aperson.

When oldOsborne first heard from his friend ColonelBuckler(as little Georgy had already informed us) howdistinguishedan officer Major Dobbin washe exhibiteda greatdeal of scornful incredulity and expressed hissurprisehow ever such a feller as that should possesseitherbrains or reputation.  But he heard of the Major'sfame fromvarious members of his society.  Sir WilliamDobbin hada great opinion of his son and narratedmanystories illustrative of the Major's learningvalourandestimation in the world's opinion.  Finallyhis nameappearedin the lists of one or two great parties of thenobilityand this circumstance had a prodigious effectupon theold aristocrat of Russell Square.

TheMajor's positionas guardian to Georgywhosepossessionhad been ceded to his grandfatherrenderedsomemeetings between the two gentlemen inevitable;and it wasin one of these that old Osbornea keen manofbusinesslooking into the Major's accounts with hisward andthe boy's mothergot a hintwhich staggeredhim verymuchand at once pained and pleased himthat itwas out of William Dobbin's own pocket that apart ofthe fund had been supplied upon which thepoor widowand the child had subsisted.

Whenpressed upon the pointDobbinwho could nottell liesblushed and stammered a good deal and finallyconfessed. "The marriage" he said (at which hisinterlocutor'sface grew dark) "was very much my doing.  Ithought mypoor friend had gone so far that retreat fromhisengagement would have been dishonour to him anddeath toMrs. Osborneand I could do no lesswhen shewas leftwithout resourcesthan give what money I couldspare tomaintain her."

"MajorD." Mr. Osborne saidlooking hard at him andturningvery red too--"you did me a great injury; butgive meleave to tell yousiryou are an honest feller.There's myhandsirthough I little thought that myflesh andblood was living on you--" and the pair shookhandswith great confusion on Major Dobbin's partthusfound outin his act of charitable hypocrisy.

He stroveto soften the old man and reconcile himtowardshis son's memory.  "He was such a noble fellow"he said"that all of us loved himand would have doneanythingfor him.  Ias a young man in those dayswasflatteredbeyond measure by his preference for meandwas morepleased to be seen in his company than inthat ofthe Commander-in-Chief.  I never saw his equalfor pluckand daring and all the qualities of a soldier";and Dobbintold the old father as many stories as hecouldremember regarding the gallantry and achievementsof hisson.  "And Georgy is so like him" theMajoradded.

"He'sso like him that he makes me tremble sometimes"thegrandfather said.

On one ortwo evenings the Major came to dine withMr.Osborne (it was during the time of the sickness ofMr.Sedley)and as the two sat together in the eveningafterdinnerall their talk was about the departed hero.The fatherboasted about him according to his wontglorifyinghimself in recounting his son's feats andgallantrybut his mood was at any rate better and morecharitablethan that in which he had been disposed untilnow toregard the poor fellow; and the Christian heart ofthe kindMajor was pleased at these symptoms ofreturningpeace and good-will.  On the second evening oldOsbornecalled Dobbin Williamjust as he used to do atthe timewhen Dobbin and George were boys togetherand thehonest gentleman was pleased by that mark ofreconciliation.

On thenext day at breakfastwhen Miss Osbornewith theasperity of her age and characterventured tomake someremark reflecting slightingly upon the Major'sappearanceor behaviour--the master of the houseinterruptedher.  "You'd have been glad enough to git himforyourselfMiss O.  But them grapes are sour.  Ha!  ha!MajorWilliam is a fine feller."

"Thathe isGrandpapa" said Georgy approvingly;and goingup close to the old gentlemanhe took a holdof hislarge grey whiskersand laughed in his facegood-humouredlyand kissed him.  And he told the story atnight tohis motherwho fully agreed with the boy."Indeedhe is" she said.  "Your dear father always said so.He is oneof the best and most upright of men." Dobbinhappenedto drop in very soon after this conversationwhich madeAmelia blush perhapsand the youngscapegraceincreased the confusion by telling Dobbinthe otherpart of the story.  "I sayDob" he said"there'ssuch anuncommon nice girl wants to marry you.  She'splenty oftin; she wears a front; and she scolds theservantsfrom morning till night." "Who is it?" askedDobbin. "It's Aunt O." the boy answered.  "Grandpapasaidso. And I sayDobhow prime it would be to have youfor myuncle." Old Sedley's quavering voice from thenext roomat this moment weakly called for Ameliaandthelaughing ended.

That oldOsborne's mind was changing was pretty clear.He askedGeorge about his uncle sometimesand laughedat theboy's imitation of the way in which Jos said"God-bless-my-soul"and gobbled his soup.  Then he said"It'snot respectfulsirof you younkers to be imitating ofyourrelations.  Miss O.when you go out adrivingto-dayleave my card upon Mr. Sedleydo you hear?There's noquarrel betwigst me and him anyhow."

The cardwas returnedand Jos and the Major wereasked todinner--to a dinner the most splendid andstupidthat perhaps ever Mr. Osborne gave; every inchof thefamily plate was exhibitedand the best companywasasked.  Mr. Sedley took down Miss O.  to dinnerand shewas very gracious to him; whereas shehardlyspoke to the Majorwho sat apart from herandby theside of Mr. Osbornevery timid.  Jos saidwithgreatsolemnityit was the best turtle soup he had evertasted inhis lifeand asked Mr. Osborne where he got hisMadeira.

"Itis some of Sedley's wine" whispered the butler tohismaster.  "I've had it a long timeand paid a goodfigure forittoo" Mr. Osborne said aloud to his guestand thenwhispered to his right-hand neighbour howhe had gotit "at the old chap's sale."

More thanonce he asked the Major about--about Mrs.GeorgeOsborne--a theme on which the Major could beveryeloquent when he chose.  He told Mr. Osborne ofhersufferings--of her passionate attachment to herhusbandwhose memory she worshipped still--of the tenderanddutiful manner in which she had supported herparentsand given up her boywhen it seemed to her herduty to doso.  "You don't know what she enduredsir"saidhonest Dobbin with a tremor in his voice"and Ihope andtrust you will be reconciled to her.  If shetook yourson away from youshe gave hers to you;andhowever much you loved your Georgedepend on itshe lovedhers ten times more."

"ByGodyou are a good fellersir" was all Mr. Os-bornesaid.  It had never struck him that the widow wouldfeel anypain at parting from the boyor that his havinga finefortune could grieve her.  A reconciliation wasannouncedas speedy and inevitableand Amelia's heartalreadybegan to beat at the notion of the awful meetingwithGeorge's father.

It wasneverhoweverdestined to take place.  OldSedley'slingering illness and death supervenedafterwhich ameeting was for some time impossible.  Thatcatastropheand other events may have worked upon Mr.Osborne. He was much shaken of lateand agedand hismind wasworking inwardly.  He had sent for his lawyersandprobably changed something in his will.  The medicalman wholooked in pronounced him shakyagitatedandtalked ofa little blood and the seaside; but he tookneither ofthese remedies.

One daywhen he should have come down to breakfasthisservant missing himwent into his dressing-roomand foundhim lying at the foot of the dressing-table in afit. Miss Osborne was apprised; the doctors were sentfor;Georgy stopped away from school; the bleedersandcuppers came.  Osborne partially regained cognizancebut nevercould speak againthough he trieddreadfullyonce or twiceand in four days he died.  Thedoctorswent downand the undertaker's men went upthestairsand all the shutters were shut towards thegarden inRussell Square.  Bullock rushed from the Cityin ahurry.  "How much money had he left to that boy?Not halfsurely? Surely share and share alike betweenthethree?" It was an agitating moment.

What wasit that poor old man tried once or twicein vain tosay? I hope it was that he wanted to seeAmelia andbe reconciled before he left the world to onedear andfaithful wife of his son:  it was most likelythatforhis will showed that the hatred which he hadso longcherished had gone out of his heart.

They foundin the pocket of his dressing-gown theletterwith the great red seal which George had writtenhim fromWaterloo.  He had looked at the other paperstoorelative to his sonfor the key of the box in whichhe keptthem was also in his pocketand it was foundthe sealsand envelopes had been broken--very likely onthe nightbefore the seizure--when the butler had takenhim teainto his studyand found him reading in thegreat redfamily Bible.

When thewill was openedit was found that half thepropertywas left to Georgeand the remainder betweenthe twosisters.  Mr. Bullock to continuefor their jointbenefitthe affairs of the commercial houseor to go outas hethought fit.  An annuity of five hundred poundschargeableon George's propertywas left to his mother"thewidow of my beloved sonGeorge Osborne" whowas toresume the guardianship of the boy.

"MajorWilliam Dobbinmy beloved son's friend" wasappointedexecutor; "and as out of his kindness andbountyand with his own private fundshe maintainedmygrandson and my son's widowwhen they wereotherwisewithout means of support" (the testator went onto say) "Ihereby thank him heartily for his love andregard forthemand beseech him to accept such a sumas may besufficient to purchase his commission as aLieutenant-Colonelor to be disposed of in any way hemay thinkfit."

WhenAmelia heard that her father-in-law wasreconciledto herher heart meltedand she was gratefulfor thefortune left to her.  But when she heard howGeorgy wasrestored to herand knew how and bywhomandhow it was William's bounty that supportedher inpovertyhow it was William who gave her herhusbandand her son--ohthen she sank on her kneesand prayedfor blessings on that constant and kind heart;she boweddown and humbled herselfand kissed thefeetasit wereof that beautiful and generous affection.

Andgratitude was all that she had to pay back forsuchadmirable devotion and benefits--only gratitude!  Ifshethought of any other returnthe image of Georgestood upout of the grave and said"You are mineand mineonlynow and forever."

Williamknew her feelings:  had he not passed hiswhole lifein divining them?

When thenature of Mr. Osborne's will became knownto theworldit was edifying to remark how Mrs. GeorgeOsbornerose in the estimation of the people forming hercircle ofacquaintance.  The servants of Jos's establishmentwho usedto question her humble orders and saythey would"ask Master" whether or not they could obeyneverthought now of that sort of appeal.  The cookforgot tosneer at her shabby old gowns (whichindeedwere quiteeclipsed by that lady's finery when she wasdressed togo to church of a Sunday evening)the othersno longergrumbled at the sound of her bellor delayedto answerthat summons.  The coachmanwho grumbledthat his'osses should be brought out and hiscarriagemade into an hospital for that old feller andMrs. O.drove her with the utmost alacrity nowandtremblinglest he should be superseded by Mr. Osborne'scoachmanasked "what them there Russell Squarecoachmenknew about townand whether they was fit to siton a boxbefore a lady?" Jos's friendsmale and femalesuddenlybecame interested about Emmyand cardsofcondolence multiplied on her hall table.  Jos himselfwho hadlooked on her as a good-natured harmlesspaupertowhom it was his duty to give victuals andshelterpaid her and the rich little boyhis nephewthegreatestrespect--was anxious that she should havechange andamusement after her troubles and trials"poordear girl"--and began to appear at the breakfast-tableandmost particularly to ask how she would liketo disposeof the day.

In hercapacity of guardian to Georgyshewith theconsent ofthe Majorher fellow-trusteebegged MissOsborne tolive in the Russell Square house as long asever shechose to dwell there; but that ladywith thanksdeclaredthat she never could think of remaining alonein thatmelancholy mansionand departed in deep mourningtoCheltenhamwith a couple of her old domestics.The restwere liberally paid and dismissedthe faithfuloldbutlerwhom Mrs. Osborne proposed to retainresigningand preferring to invest his savings in a public-housewherelet us hopehe was not unprosperous.MissOsborne not choosing to live in Russell SquareMrs.Osbornealsoafter consultationdeclined to occupy thegloomy oldmansion there.  The house was dismantled;the richfurniture and effectsthe awful chandeliers anddrearyblank mirrors packed away and hiddenthe richrosewooddrawing-room suite was muffled in strawthecarpetswere rolled up and cordedthe small selectlibrary ofwell-bound books was stowed into two wine-chestsand the whole paraphernalia rolled away inseveralenormous vans to the Pantechniconwhere theywere tolie until Georgy's majority.  And the great heavydarkplate-chests went off to Messrs.  Stumpy and Rowdyto lie inthe cellars of those eminent bankers until thesameperiod should arrive.

One dayEmmywith George in her hand and clad indeepsableswent to visit the deserted mansion which shehad notentered since she was a girl.  The place in frontwaslittered with straw where the vans had been ladenand rolledoff.  They went into the great blank roomsthewalls ofwhich bore the marks where the pictures andmirrorshad hung.  Then they went up the great blankstonestaircases into the upper roomsinto that wheregrandpapadiedas George said in a whisperand thenhigherstill into George's own room.  The boy was stillclingingby her sidebut she thought of another besideshim. She knew that it had been his father's room as wellas hisown.

She wentup to one of the open windows (one ofthose atwhich she used to gaze with a sick heart whenthe childwas first taken from her)and thence as shelooked outshe could seeover the trees of Russell Squarethe oldhouse in which she herself was bornand whereshe hadpassed so many happy days of sacred youth.They allcame back to herthe pleasant holidaysthe kindfacesthe carelessjoyful past timesand thelong painsand trials that had since cast her down.Shethought of these and of the man who had been herconstantprotectorher good geniusher sole benefactorher tenderand generous friend.

"LookhereMother" said Georgy"here's a G.O.scratchedon the glass with a diamondI never saw itbeforeInever did it."

"Itwas your father's room long before you were bornGeorge"she saidand she blushed as she kissed theboy.

She wasvery silent as they drove back to Richmondwhere theyhad taken a temporary house:  where thesmilinglawyers used to come bustling over to see her (andwe may besure noted the visit in the bill):  and where ofcoursethere was a room for Major Dobbin toowhorode overfrequentlyhaving much business to transacton behalfof his little ward.

Georgy atthis time was removed from Mr. Veal's onanunlimited holidayand that gentleman was engagedto preparean inscription for a fine marble slabto beplaced upin the Foundling under the monument ofCaptainGeorge Osborne.

The femaleBullockaunt of Georgyalthoughdespoiledby that little monster of one-half of the sumwhich sheexpected from her fathernevertheless showedhercharitableness of spirit by being reconciled to themother andthe boy.  Roehampton is not far fromRichmondand one day the chariotwith the golden bullocksemblazonedon the panelsand the flaccid children withindrove toAmelia's house at Richmond; and the Bullockfamilymade an irruption into the gardenwhere Ameliawasreading a bookJos was in an arbour placidlydippingstrawberries into wineand the Major in one ofhis Indianjackets was giving a back to Georgywhochose tojump over him.  He went over his head andboundedinto the little advance of Bullockswithimmenseblack bows in their hatsand huge black sashesaccompanyingtheir mourning mamma.

"Heis just of the age for Rosa" the fond parentthoughtand glanced towards that dear childanunwholesomelittle miss of seven years of age.

"Rosago and kiss your dear cousin" Mrs. Fredericksaid. "Don't you know meGeorge? I am your aunt."

"Iknow you well enough" George said; "but I don'tlikekissingplease"; and he retreated from the obedientcaressesof his cousin.

"Takeme to your dear mammayou droll child" Mrs.Fredericksaidand those ladies accordingly metafteran absenceof more than fifteen years.  During Emmy'scares andpoverty the other had never once thoughtaboutcoming to see herbut now that she was decentlyprosperousin the worldher sister-in-law came to her asa matterof course.

So didnumbers more.  Our old friendMiss Swartzandherhusband came thundering over from Hampton Courtwithflaming yellow liveriesand was as impetuously fondof Ameliaas ever.  Miss Swartz would have liked heralways ifshe could have seen her.  One must do her thatjustice. Butque voulez vous?--in this vast town onehas notthe time to go and seek one's friends; if theydrop outof the rank they disappearand we march onwithoutthem.  Who is ever missed in Vanity Fair?

But soina wordand before the period of grief forMr.Osborne's death had subsidedEmmy found herselfin thecentre of a very genteel circle indeedthemembers ofwhich could not conceive that anybodybelongingto it was not very lucky.  There was scarce oneof theladies that hadn't a relation a Peerthough thehusbandmight be a drysalter in the City.  Some of theladieswere very blue and well informedreading Mrs.Somervilleand frequenting the Royal Institution; othersweresevere and Evangelicaland held by Exeter Hall.Emmyitmust be ownedfound herself entirely at a loss inthe midstof their claversand suffered woefully on theone or twooccasions on which she was compelled toacceptMrs. Frederick Bullock's hospitalities.  That ladypersistedin patronizing her and determined most graciouslyto formher.  She found Amelia's milliners for her andregulatedher household and her manners.  She droveoverconstantly from Roehampton and entertained herfriendwith faint fashionable fiddle-faddle and feebleCourtslip-slop.  Jos liked to hear itbut the Major usedto go offgrowling at the appearance of this womanwithhertwopenny gentility.  He went to sleep under FrederickBullock'sbald headafter dinnerat one of the banker'sbestparties (Fred was still anxious that the balance oftheOsborne property should be transferred from StumpyandRowdy's to them)and whilst Ameliawho did notknowLatinor who wrote the last crack article in theEdinburghand did not in the least deploreorotherwiseMr. Peel's late extraordinary tergiversation on thefatalCatholic Relief Billsat dumb amongst the ladies inthe granddrawing-roomlooking out upon velvet lawnstrimgravel walksand glistening hot-houses.

"Sheseems good-natured but insipid" said Mrs.Rowdy;"that Major seems to be particularly epris."

"Shewants ton sadly" said Mrs. Hollyock.  "My dearcreatureyou never will be able to form her."

"Sheis dreadfully ignorant or indifferent" said Mrs.Glowrywith a voice as if from the graveand a sadshake ofthe head and turban.  "I asked her if she thoughtthat itwas in 1836according to Mr. Jowlsor in 1839accordingto Mr. Wapshotthat the Pope was to fall:and shesaid--'Poor Pope!  I hope not--What has hedone?' "

"Sheis my brother's widowmy dear friends" Mrs.Frederickreplied"and as such I think we're all bound togive herevery attention and instruction on entering intotheworld.  You may fancy there can be no MERCENARYmotives inthose whose DISAPPOINTMENTS are well known."

"Thatpoor dear Mrs. Bullock" said Rowdy to Hollyockas theydrove away together--"she is always schemingandmanaging.  She wants Mrs. Osborne's accountto betaken from our house to hers--and the way inwhich shecoaxes that boy and makes him sit by thatblear-eyedlittle Rosa is perfectly ridiculous."

"Iwish Glowry was choked with her Man of Sin andher Battleof Armageddon" cried the otherand thecarriagerolled away over Putney Bridge.

But thissort of society was too cruelly genteel forEmmyandall jumped for joy when a foreign tour wasproposed.

CHAPTERLXIIAmRhein

The aboveeveryday events had occurredand a fewweeks hadpassedwhen on one fine morningParliamentbeingoverthe summer advancedand all the goodcompany inLondon about to quit that city for their annualtour insearch of pleasure or healththe Batavier steamboatleft theTower-stairs laden with a goodly company of Englishfugitives. The quarter-deck awnings were upand thebenchesand gangways crowded with scores of rosy childrenbustlingnursemaids; ladies in the prettiest pinkbonnetsand summer dresses; gentlemen in travelling capsandlinen-jacketswhose mustachios had just begun tosprout forthe ensuing tour; and stout trim old veteranswithstarched neckcloths and neat-brushed hatssuch ashaveinvaded Europe any time since the conclusion of thewarandcarry the national Goddem into every city oftheContinent.  The congregation of hat-boxesandBramahdesksand dressing-cases was prodigious.  Therewerejaunty young Cambridge-men travelling with theirtutorandgoing for a reading excursion to NonnenwerthorKonigswinter; there were Irish gentlemenwith themostdashing whiskers and jewellerytalking abouthorsesincessantlyand prodigiously polite to the youngladies onboardwhomon the contrarythe Cambridgelads andtheir pale-faced tutor avoided with maidencoyness;there were old Pall Mall loungers bound for EmsandWiesbaden and a course of waters to clear off thedinners ofthe seasonand a little roulette and trente-et-quaranteto keep the excitement going; there was oldMethuselahwho had married his young wifewith CaptainPapillonof the Guards holding her parasol andguide-books;there was young May who was carrying offhis brideon a pleasure tour (Mrs. Winter that wasandwho hadbeen at school with May's grandmother); therewas SirJohn and my Lady with a dozen childrenandcorrespondingnursemaids; and the great grandeeBareacresfamily that sat by themselves near the wheelstared ateverybodyand spoke to no one.  Theircarriagesemblazoned with coronets and heaped withshiningimperialswere on the foredecklocked in with adozen moresuch vehicles:  it was difficult to pass in andoutamongst them; and the poor inmates of thefore-cabinhad scarcely any space for locomotion.  Theseconsistedof a few magnificently attired gentlemen fromHoundsditchwho brought their own provisionsandcould havebought half the gay people in the grandsaloon; afew honest fellows with mustachios and portfolioswho set tosketching before they had been half an houron board;one or two French femmes de chambre whobegan tobe dreadfully ill by the time the boat hadpassedGreenwich; a groom or two who lounged in theneighbourhoodof the horse-boxes under their chargeorleanedover the side by the paddle-wheelsand talkedabout whowas good for the Legerand what they stoodto win orlose for the Goodwood cup.

All thecourierswhen they had done plunging aboutthe shipand had settled their various masters in thecabins oron the deckcongregated together and began tochatterand smoke; the Hebrew gentlemen joining themandlooking at the carriages.  There was Sir John's greatcarriagethat would hold thirteen people; my LordMethuselah'scarriagemy Lord Bareacres' chariotbritzskaand fourgonthat anybody might pay for who liked.It was awonder how my Lord got the ready money topay forthe expenses of the journey.  The Hebrew gentlemenknew howhe got it.  They knew what money hisLordshiphad in his pocket at that instantand whatinteresthe paid for itand who gave it him.  Finally therewas a veryneathandsome travelling carriageaboutwhich thegentlemen speculated.

"Aqui cette voiture la?" said one gentleman-courierwith alarge morocco money-bag and ear-rings to anotherwithear-rings and a large morocco money-bag.

"C'esta Kirsch je bense--je l'ai vu toute a l'heure--quibrenoit des sangviches dans la voiture" said thecourier ina fine German French.

Kirschemerging presently from the neighbourhood ofthe holdwhere he had been bellowing instructionsintermingledwith polyglot oaths to the ship's men engagedinsecreting the passengers' luggagecame to give anaccount ofhimself to his brother interpreters.  Heinformedthem that the carriage belonged to a Nabob fromCalcuttaand Jamaica enormously richand with whomhe wasengaged to travel; and at this moment a younggentlemanwho had been warned off the bridge betweenthepaddle-boxesand who had dropped thence on to theroof ofLord Methuselah's carriagefrom which he madehis wayover other carriages and imperials until he hadclamberedon to his owndescended thence and throughthe windowinto the body of the carriageto the applauseof thecouriers looking on.

"Nousallons avoir une belle traverseeMonsieurGeorge"said the courier with a grinas he lifted hisgold-lacedcap.

"D--your French" said the young gentleman"where'sthebiscuitsay?" Whereupon Kirsch answered him in theEnglishlanguage or in such an imitation of it as he couldcommand--forthough he was familiar with all languagesMr. Kirschwas not acquainted with a single oneandspoke allwith indifferent volubility and incorrectness.

Theimperious young gentleman who gobbled thebiscuits(and indeed it was time to refresh himselffor hehadbreakfasted at Richmond full three hours before)was ouryoung friend George Osborne.  Uncle Jos and hismamma wereon the quarter-deck with a gentleman ofwhom theyused to see a good dealand the four wereabout tomake a summer tour.

Jos wasseated at that moment on deck under theawningand pretty nearly opposite to the Earl ofBareacresand his familywhose proceedings absorbedtheBengalee almost entirely.  Both the noble couplelookedrather younger than in the eventful year '15whenJosremembered to have seen them at Brussels (indeedhe alwaysgave out in India that he was intimatelyacquaintedwith them).  Lady Bareacres' hairwhich wasthen darkwas now a beautiful golden auburnwhereasLordBareacres' whiskersformerly redwere at presentof a richblack with purple and green reflections in thelight. But changed as they werethe movements of thenoble pairoccupied Jos's mind entirely.  The presence ofa Lordfascinated himand he could look at nothing else.

"Thosepeople seem to interest you a good deal" saidDobbinlaughing and watching him.  Amelia too laughed.She was ina straw bonnet with black ribbonsandotherwisedressed in mourningbut the little bustle andholiday ofthe journey pleased and excited herand shelookedparticularly happy.

"Whata heavenly day!" Emmy said and addedwithgreatoriginality"I hope we shall have a calm passage."

Jos wavedhis handscornfully glancing at the sametime underhis eyelids at the great folks opposite.  "If youhad madethe voyages we have" he said"you wouldn'tmuch careabout the weather." But neverthelesstravelleras he washe passed the night direfully sick in hiscarriagewhere his courier tended him with brandy-and-water andevery luxury.

In duetime this happy party landed at the quays ofRotterdamwhence they were transported by anothersteamer tothe city of Cologne.  Here the carriage andthe familytook to the shoreand Jos was not a littlegratifiedto see his arrival announced in the Colognenewspapersas "Herr Graf Lord von Sedley nebstBegleitungaus London." He had his court dress with him;he hadinsisted that Dobbin should bring his regimentalparaphernalia;he announced that it was his intention tobepresented at some foreign courtsand pay his respectsto theSovereigns of the countries which he honouredwith avisit.

Whereverthe party stoppedand an opportunity wasofferedMr. Jos left his own card and the Major's upon"OurMinister." It was with great difficulty that he couldberestrained from putting on his cocked hat and tightsto waitupon the English consul at the Free City ofJudenstadtwhen that hospitable functionary asked ourtravellersto dinner.  He kept a journal of his voyage andnotedelaborately the defects or excellences of the variousinns atwhich he put upand of the wines and dishes ofwhich hepartook.

As forEmmyshe was very happy and pleased.  Dobbinused tocarry about for her her stool and sketch-bookandadmired the drawings of the good-natured little artistas theynever had been admired before.  She sat uponsteamers'decks and drew crags and castlesor shemountedupon donkeys and ascended to ancient robber-towersattended by her two aides-de-campGeorgy andDobbin. She laughedand the Major did tooat his drollfigure ondonkey-backwith his long legs touching theground. He was the interpreter for the party; having agoodmilitary knowledge of the German languageandhe and thedelighted George fought the campaigns of theRhine andthe Palatinate.  In the course of a few weeksand byassiduously conversing with Herr Kirsch on thebox of thecarriageGeorgy made prodigious advance intheknowledge of High Dutchand could talk to hotelwaitersand postilions in a way that charmed his motherand amusedhis guardian.

Mr. Josdid not much engage in the afternoonexcursionsof his fellow-travellers.  He slept a good dealafterdinneror basked in the arbours of the pleasantinn-gardens. Pleasant Rhine gardens!  Fair scenes of peaceandsunshine--noble purple mountainswhose crests arereflectedin the magnificent stream--who has ever seenyou thathas not a grateful memory of those scenes offriendlyrepose and beauty? To lay down the pen andeven tothink of that beautiful Rhineland makes onehappy. At this time of summer eveningthe cows aretroopingdown from the hillslowing and with their bellstinklingto the old townwith its old moatsand gatesandspiresand chestnut-treeswith long blue shadowsstretchingover the grass; the sky and the river belowflamein-crimson and gold; and the moon is already outlookingpale towards the sunset.  The sun sinks behindthe greatcastle-crested mountainsthe night falls suddenlythe rivergrows darker and darkerlights quiver in itfrom thewindows in the old rampartsand twinklepeacefullyin the villages under the hills on the opposite shore.

So Josused to go to sleep a good deal with his bandannaover hisface and be very comfortableand read alltheEnglish newsand every word of Galignani's admirablenewspaper(may the blessings of all Englishmen whohave everbeen abroad rest on the founders and proprietorsof thatpiratical print!  ) and whether he woke orslepthisfriends did not very much miss him.  Yestheywere veryhappy.  They went to the opera often ofevenings--tothose snugunassumingdear old operas in theGermantownswhere the noblesse sits and criesandknitsstockings on the one sideover against the bourgeoisieon theother; and His Transparency the Duke and hisTransparentfamilyall very fat and good-naturedcomeand occupythe great box in the middle; and the pit isfull ofthe most elegant slim-waisted officers with straw-colouredmustachiosand twopence a day on full pay.Here itwas that Emmy found her delightand wasintroducedfor the first time to the wonders of Mozart andCimarosa. The Major's musical taste has been beforealludedtoand his performances on the flute commended.Butperhaps the chief pleasure he had in these operaswas inwatching Emmy's rapture while listening to them.A newworld of love and beauty broke upon her whenshe wasintroduced to those divine compositions; thislady hadthe keenest and finest sensibilityand how couldshe beindifferent when she heard Mozart? The tenderparts of"Don Juan" awakened in her raptures soexquisitethat she would ask herself when she went to sayherprayers of a night whether it was not wicked to feelso muchdelight as that with which "Vedrai Carino" and"BattiBatti" filled her gentle little bosom? But the Majorwhom sheconsulted upon this headas her theologicaladviser(and who himself had a pious and reverent soul)said thatfor his partevery beauty of art or nature madehimthankful as well as happyand that the pleasure tobe had inlistening to fine musicas in looking at the starsin theskyor at a beautiful landscape or picturewas abenefitfor which we might thank Heaven as sincerely asfor anyother worldly blessing.  And in reply to some faintobjectionsof Mrs. Amelia's (taken from certain theologicalworks likethe Washerwoman of Finchley Commonand othersof that schoolwith which Mrs. Osborne hadbeenfurnished during her life at Brompton) he told heran Easternfable of the Owl who thought that thesunshinewas unbearable for the eyes and that theNightingalewas a most overrated bird.  "It is one's nature tosing andthe other's to hoot" he saidlaughing"andwith sucha sweet voice as you have yourselfyou mustbelong tothe Bulbul faction."

I like todwell upon this period of her life and to thinkthat shewas cheerful and happy.  You seeshe has nothad toomuch of that sort of existence as yetand has notfallen inthe way of means to educate her tastes or herintelligence. She has been domineered over hitherto byvulgarintellects.  It is the lot of many a woman.  And asevery oneof the dear sex is the rival of the rest of herkindtimidity passes for folly in their charitablejudgments;and gentleness for dulness; and silence--which isbut timiddenial of the unwelcome assertion of rulingfolksandtacit protestantism--above allfinds no mercyat thehands of the female Inquisition.  Thusmy dear andcivilizedreaderif you and I were to find ourselves thisevening ina society of greengrocerslet us sayit isprobablethat our conversation would not be brilliant; ifonthe otherhanda greengrocer should find himself at yourrefinedand polite tea-tablewhere everybody was sayingwittythingsand everybody of fashion and repute tearingherfriends to pieces in the most delightful mannerit ispossiblethat the stranger would not be very talkative andby nomeans interesting or interested.

And itmust be remembered that this poor lady hadnever meta gentleman in her life until this presentmoment. Perhaps these are rarer personages than some ofus thinkfor.  Which of us can point out many such in hiscircle--menwhose aims are generouswhose truth isconstantand not only constant in its kind but elevatedin itsdegree; whose want of meanness makes themsimple;who can look the world honestly in the face withan equalmanly sympathy for the great and the small?We allknow a hundred whose coats are very well madeand ascore who have excellent mannersand one or twohappybeings who are what they call in the inner circlesand haveshot into the very centre and bull's-eye of thefashion;but of gentlemen how many? Let us take a littlescrap ofpaper and each make out his list.

My friendthe Major I writewithout any doubtinmine. He had very long legsa yellow faceand a slightlispwhich at first was rather ridiculous.  But his thoughtswere justhis brains were fairly goodhis life was honestand pureand his heart warm and humble.  He certainlyhad verylarge hands and feetwhich the two GeorgeOsbornesused to caricature and laugh at; and their jeersandlaughter perhaps led poor little Emmy astray as tohisworth.  But have we not all been misled about ourheroes andchanged our opinions a hundred times? Emmyin thishappy timefound that hers underwent a very greatchange inrespect of the merits of the Major.

Perhaps itwas the happiest time of both their livesindeedifthey did but know it--and who does? Whichof us canpoint out and say that was the culmination--that wasthe summit of human joy? But at all eventsthiscouple were very decently contentedand enjoyedaspleasant a summer tour as any pair that left Englandthatyear.  Georgy was always present at the playbutit was theMajor who put Emmy's shawl on after theentertainment;and in the walks and excursions the younglad wouldbe on aheadand up a tower-stair or a treewhilst thesoberer couple were belowthe Major smokinghis cigarwith great placidity and constancywhilst Emmysketchedthe site or the ruin.  It was on this very tour thatIthepresent writer of a history of which every word istruehadthe pleasure to see them first and to make theiracquaintance.

It was atthe little comfortable Ducal town ofPumpernickel(that very place where Sir Pitt Crawleyhad beenso distinguished as an attache; but that was inearlyearly daysand before the news of the Battle ofAusterlitzsent all the English diplomatists in Germany tothe rightabout) that I first saw Colonel Dobbin andhisparty.  They had arrived with the carriage and courierat theErbprinz Hotelthe best of the townand the wholepartydined at the table d'hote.  Everybody remarkedthemajesty of Jos and the knowing way in which hesippedorrather suckedthe Johannisbergerwhich heorderedfor dinner.  The little boytoowe observedhada famousappetiteand consumed schinkenand bratenandkartoffelnand cranberry jamand saladandpuddingand roast fowlsand sweetmeatswith a gallantrythat didhonour to his nation.  After about fifteen dishesheconcluded the repast with dessertsome of which heevencarried out of doorsfor some young gentlemen attableamused with his coolness and gallant free-and-easymannerinduced him to pocket a handful of macaroonswhich hediscussed on his way to the theatrewhithereverybodywent in the cheery social little German place.The ladyin blackthe boy's mammalaughed and blushedand lookedexceedingly pleased and shy as the dinnerwent onand at the various feats and instances ofespieglerieon the part of her son.  The Colonel--for so hebecame very soon afterwards--I rememberjoked theboy with a great deal of grave funpointingout disheswhich he hadn't triedand entreating him notto baulkhis appetitebut to have a second supply ofthis orthat.

It waswhat they call a gast-rolle night at the RoyalGrandDucal Pumpernickelisch Hof--or Court theatre--and MadameSchroeder Devrientthen in the bloom ofher beautyand geniusperformed the part of the heroinein thewonderful opera of Fidelio.  From our places in thestalls wecould see our four friends of the table d'hotein theloge which Schwendler of the Erbprinz kept for hisbestguestsand I could not help remarking the effectwhich themagnificent actress and music produced uponMrs.Osbornefor so we heard the stout gentleman inthemustachios call her.  During the astonishing Chorusof thePrisonersover which the delightful voice of theactressrose and soared in the most ravishing harmonytheEnglish lady's face wore such an expression of wonderanddelight that it struck even little Fippsthe blaseattachewho drawled outas he fixed his glass upon her"Gaydit really does one good to see a woman caypableof thatstayt of excaytement." And in the Prison ScenewhereFideliorushing to her husbandcries"Nichtsnichtsmein Florestan" she fairly lost herself andcoveredher face with her handkerchief.  Every woman in thehouse wassnivelling at the timebut I suppose it wasbecause itwas predestined that I was to write thisparticularlady's memoirs that I remarked her.

The nextday they gave another piece of BeethovenDieSchlacht bei Vittoria.  Malbrook is introduced at thebeginningof the performanceas indicative of the briskadvance ofthe French army.  Then come drumstrumpetsthundersof artilleryand groans of the dyingand at lastin a grandtriumphal swell"God Save the King" isperformed.

There mayhave been a score of Englishmen in thehousebutat the burst of that beloved and well-knownmusicevery one of themwe young fellows in the stallsSir Johnand Lady Bullminster (who had taken a houseatPumpernickel for the education of their ninechildren)the fat gentleman with the mustachiosthe longMajor inwhite duck trousersand the lady with the littleboy uponwhom he was so sweeteven Kirschthe courierin thegallerystood bolt upright in their places andproclaimedthemselves to be members of the dear old Britishnation. As for Tapewormthe Charge d'Affaireshe roseup in hisbox and bowed and simperedas if he wouldrepresentthe whole empire.  Tapeworm was nephew andheir ofold Marshal Tiptoffwho has been introduced inthis storyas General Tiptoffjust before WaterloowhowasColonel of the --th regiment in which Major Dobbinservedand who died in this year full of honoursand ofan aspicof plovers' eggs; when the regiment was graciouslygiven byhis Majesty to Colonel Sir Michael O'DowdK.C.B. who had commanded it in many glorious fields.

Tapewormmust have met with Colonel Dobbin at thehouse ofthe Colonel's Colonelthe Marshalfor herecognizedhim on this night at the theatreand with theutmostcondescensionhis Majesty's minister came overfrom hisown box and publicly shook hands with hisnew-foundfriend.

"Lookat that infernal sly-boots of a Tapeworm"Fippswhisperedexamining his chief from the stalls."Whereverthere's a pretty woman he always twistshimselfin." And I wonder what were diplomatists made forbut forthat?

"HaveI the honour of addressing myself to Mrs.Dobbin?"asked the Secretary with a most insinuating grin.

Georgyburst out laughing and said"By Jovethat wasa good'un." Emmy and the Major blushed:  we saw themfrom thestalls.

"Thislady is Mrs. George Osborne" said the Major"andthis is her brotherMr. Sedleya distinguishedofficer ofthe Bengal Civil Service:  permit me to introducehim toyour lordship."

My lordnearly sent Jos off his legs with the mostfascinatingsmile.  "Are you going to stop in Pumpernickel?"he said. "It is a dull placebut we want some nice peopleand wewould try and make it SO agreeable to you.  Mr.--Ahum--Mrs.--Oho. I shall do myself the honour of callingupon youto-morrow at your inn." And he went awaywith aParthian grin and glance which he thought mustfinishMrs. Osborne completely.

Theperformance overthe young fellows lounged aboutthelobbiesand we saw the society take its departure.TheDuchess Dowager went off in her jingling old coachattendedby two faithful and withered old maids ofhonourand a little snuffy spindle-shanked gentleman inwaitingin a brown jasey and a green coat covered withorders--ofwhich the star and the grand yellow cordon ofthe orderof St.  Michael of Pumpernickel were mostconspicuous. The drums rolledthe guards salutedand theoldcarriage drove away.

Then camehis Transparency the Duke and Transparentfamilywith his great officers of state and household.  Hebowedserenely to everybody.  And amid the saluting ofthe guardsand the flaring of the torches of the runningfootmenclad in scarletthe Transparent carriages droveaway tothe old Ducal schlosswith its towers andpinaclesstanding on the schlossberg.  Everybody inPumpernickelknew everybody.  No sooner was a foreigner seenthere thanthe Minister of Foreign Affairsor some othergreat orsmall officer of statewent round to the Erbprinzand foundout the name of the new arrival.

We watchedthemtooout of the theatre.  Tapewormhad justwalked offenveloped in his cloakwith whichhisgigantic chasseur was always in attendanceandlooking asmuch as possible like Don Juan.  The PrimeMinister'slady had just squeezed herself into her sedanand herdaughterthe charming Idahad put on hercalash andclogs; when the English party came outtheboyyawning drearilythe Major taking great pains inkeepingthe shawl over Mrs. Osborne's headand Mr.Sedleylooking grandwith a crush opera-hat on one sideof hishead and his hand in the stomach of a voluminouswhitewaistcoat.  We took off our hats to our acquaintancesof thetable d'hoteand the ladyin returnpresented uswith alittle smile and a curtseyfor whicheverybodymight be thankful.

Thecarriage from the innunder the superintendenceof thebustling Mr. Kirschwas in waiting to convey theparty; butthe fat man said he would walk and smoke hiscigar onhis way homewardsso the other threewithnods andsmiles to uswent without Mr. SedleyKirschwith thecigar casefollowing in his master's wake.

We allwalked together and talked to the stout gentlemanabout theagremens of the place.  It was very agreeablefor theEnglish.  There were shooting-parties andbattues;there was a plenty of balls and entertainments atthehospitable Court; the society was generally good; thetheatreexcellent; and the living cheap.

"Andour Minister seems a most delightful and affableperson"our new friend said.  '~With such a representativeand--and agood medical manI can fancy the place tobe mosteligible.  Good-nightgentlemen." And Joscreaked upthe stairs to bedwardfollowed by Kirsch withaflambeau.  We rather hoped that nice-looking womanwould beinduced to stay some time in the town.

CHAPTERLXIIIInWhich We Meet an Old Acquaintance

Suchpolite behaviour as that of Lord Tapeworm didnot failto have the most favourable effect upon Mr.Sedley'smindand the very next morningat breakfasthepronouncedhis opinion that Pumpernickel was thepleasantestlittle place of any which he had visited on theirtour. Jos's motives and artifices were not very difficultofcomprehensionand Dobbin laughed in his sleevelikeahypocrite as he waswhen he foundby the knowing airof thecivilian and the offhand manner in which thelattertalked about Tapeworm Castle and the other membersof thefamilythat Jos had been up already in the morningconsultinghis travelling Peerage.  Yeshe had seenthe RightHonourable the Earl of Bagwighis lordship'sfather; hewas sure he hadhe had met him at--at theLevee--didn'tDob remember? and when the Diplomatistcalled onthe partyfaithful to his promiseJos receivedhim withsuch a salute and honours as were seldomaccordedto the little Envoy.  He winked at Kirsch on hisExcellency'sarrivaland that emissaryinstructed before-handwentout and superintended an entertainment ofcoldmeatsjelliesand other delicaciesbrought in upontraysandof which Mr. Jos absolutely insisted that hisnobleguest should partake.

Tapewormso long as he could have an opportunity ofadmiringthe bright eyes of Mrs. Osborne (whose freshnessofcomplexion bore daylight remarkably well) wasnot illpleased to accept any invitation to stay in Mr.Sedley'slodgings; he put one or two dexterous questionsto himabout India and the dancing-girls there; askedAmeliaabout that beautiful boy who had been with her;andcomplimented the astonished little woman upon theprodigioussensation which she had made in the house;and triedto fascinate Dobbin by talking of the late warand theexploits of the Pumpernickel contingent under thecommand ofthe Hereditary Princenow Duke ofPumpernickel.

LordTapeworm inherited no little portion of the familygallantryand it was his happy belief that almost everywoman uponwhom he himself cast friendly eyes was inlove withhim.  He left Emmy under the persuasion thatshe wasslain by his wit and attractions and went home tohislodgings to write a pretty little note to her.  She wasnotfascinatedonly puzzledby his grinninghis simperinghisscented cambric handkerchiefand his high-heeledlacqueredboots.  She did not understand one-half thecomplimentswhich he paid; she had neverin her smallexperienceof mankindmet a professional ladies' man asyetandlooked upon my lord as something curious ratherthanpleasant; and if she did not admirecertainlywonderedat him.  Joson the contrarywas delighted.  "Howveryaffable his Lordship is" he said; "How very kind ofhisLordship to say he would send his medical man!Kirschyou will carry our cards to the Count deSchlusselbackdirectly; the Major and I will have thegreatestpleasure in paying our respects at Court as soonaspossible.  Put out my uniformKirsch--both ouruniforms. It is a mark of politeness which every Englishgentlemanought to show to the countries which he visitsto pay hisrespects to the sovereigns of those countriesas to therepresentatives of his own."

WhenTapeworm's doctor cameDoctor von GlauberBodyPhysician to H.S.H.  the Dukehe speedilyconvincedJos that the Pumpernickel mineral springs andtheDoctor's particular treatment would infallibly restoretheBengalee to youth and slimness.  "Dere came here lastyear"he said"Sheneral Bulkeleyan English Sheneraltvice sopic as yousir.  I sent him back qvite tin aftertreemonthsand he danced vid Baroness Glauber atthe end oftwo."

Jos's mindwas made up; the springsthe DoctortheCourtandthe Charge d'Affaires convinced himand heproposedto spend the autumn in these delightfulquarters. And punctual to his wordon the next day theCharged'Affaires presented Jos and the Major to VictorAureliusXVIIbeing conducted to their audience withthatsovereign by the Count de SchlusselbackMarshalof theCourt.

They werestraightway invited to dinner at Courtandtheirintention of staying in the town being announcedthepolitest ladies of the whole town instantly called uponMrs.Osborne; and as not one of thesehowever poorthey mightbewas under the rank of a BaronessJos'sdelightwas beyond expression.  He wrote off to Chutneyat theClub to say that the Service was highly appreciatedinGermanythat he was going to show his friendtheCount deSchlusselbackhow to stick a pig in the Indianfashionand that his august friendsthe Duke andDuchesswere everything that was kind and civil.

Emmytoowas presented to the august familyand asmourningis not admitted in Court on certain dayssheappearedin a pink crape dress with a diamond ornamentin thecorsagepresented to her by her brotherandshe lookedso pretty in this costume that the Duke andCourt(putting out of the question the Majorwho hadscarcelyever seen her before in an evening dressandvowed thatshe did not look five-and-twenty) all admiredherexcessively.

In thisdress she walked a Polonaise with Major Dobbinat a Courtballin which easy dance Mr. Jos had thehonour ofleading out the Countess of Schlusselbackan oldlady with a hump backbut with sixteen goodquartersof nobility and related to half the royal housesofGermany.

Pumpernickelstands in the midst of a happy valleythroughwhich sparkles--to mingle with the Rhinesomewherebut I have not the map at hand to say exactly atwhatpoint--the fertilizing stream of the Pump.  In someplaces theriver is big enough to support a ferry-boatinothers toturn a mill; in Pumpernickel itselfthe lastTransparencybut threethe great and renowned VictorAureliusXIV built a magnificent bridgeon which hisown statuerisessurrounded by water-nymphs andemblems ofvictorypeaceand plenty; he has his foot on theneck of aprostrate Turk--history says he engaged andran aJanissary through the body at the relief of ViennabySobieski--butquite undisturbed by the agoniesof thatprostrate Mahometanwho writhes at his feet inthe mostghastly mannerthe Prince smiles blandly andpointswith his truncheon in the direction of the AureliusPlatzwhere he began to erect a new palace that wouldhave beenthe wonder of his age had the great-souledPrince buthad funds to complete it.  But the completionofMonplaisir (Monblaisir the honest German folks callit) wasstopped for lack of ready moneyand it and itspark andgarden are now in rather a faded conditionand notmore than ten times big enough to accommodatethe Courtof the reigning Sovereign.

Thegardens were arranged to emulate those ofVersaillesand amidst the terraces and groves there aresome hugeallegorical waterworks stillwhich spout andfrothstupendously upon fete-daysand frighten onewith theirenormous aquatic insurrections.  There is theTrophonius'cave in whichby some artificethe leadenTritonsare made not only to spout waterbut to playthe mostdreadful groans out of their lead conchs--thereis thenymphbath and the Niagara cataractwhich thepeople ofthe neighbourhood admire beyond expressionwhen theycome to the yearly fair at the opening of theChamberor to the fetes with which the happy little nationstillcelebrates the birthdays and marriage-days of itsprincelygovernors.

Then fromall the towns of the Duchywhich stretchesfor nearlyten mile--from Bolkumwhich lies onitswestern frontier bidding defiance to PrussiafromGrogwitzwhere the Prince has a hunting-lodgeandwhere hisdominions are separated by the Pump Riverfrom thoseof the neighbouring Prince of Potzenthal; fromall thelittle villageswhich besides these three greatcitiesdot over the happy principality--from the farmsand themills along the Pump come troops of people inredpetticoats and velvet head-dressesor with three-corneredhats and pipes in their mouthswho flock to theResidenzand share in the pleasures of the fair and thefestivitiesthere.  Then the theatre is open for nothingthen thewaters of Monblaisir begin to play (it is luckythat thereis company to behold themfor one would beafraid tosee them alone)--then there come mountebanksand ridingtroops (the way in which his Transparencywasfascinated by one of the horse-riders is well knownand it isbelieved that La Petite Vivandiereas she wascalledwas a spy in the French interest)and the delightedpeople arepermitted to march through room after roomof theGrand Ducal palace and admire the slipperyfloortherich hangingsand the spittoons at thedoors ofall the innumerable chambers.  There is onePavilionat Monblaisir which Aurelius Victor XV hadarranged--agreat Prince but too fond of pleasure--andwhich I amtold is a perfect wonder of licentious elegance.It ispainted with the story of Bacchus and Ariadneandthe tableworks in and out of the room by means of awindlassso that the company was served without anyinterventionof domestics.  But the place was shut up byBarbaraAurelius XV's widowa severe and devoutPrincessof the House of Bolkum and Regent of the Duchyduring herson's glorious minorityand after the deathof herhusbandcut off in the pride of his pleasures.

Thetheatre of Pumpernickel is known and famous inthatquarter of Germany.  It languished a little when thepresentDuke in his youth insisted upon having his ownoperasplayed thereand it is said one dayin a furyfrom hisplace in the orchestrawhen he attended arehearsalbroke a bassoon on the head of the ChapelMasterwho was conductingand led too slow; and duringwhich timethe Duchess Sophia wrote domestic comedieswhich musthave been very dreary to witness.  But thePrinceexecutes his music in private nowand the Duchessonly givesaway her plays to the foreigners of distinctionwho visither kind little Court.

It isconducted with no small comfort and splendour.When thereare ballsthough there may be fourhundredpeople at supperthere is a servant in scarlet andlace toattend upon every fourand every one is servedonsilver.  There are festivals and entertainments goingcontinuallyonand the Duke has his chamberlains andequerriesand the Duchess her mistress of the wardrobeand ladiesof honourjust like any other and morepotentpotentates.

TheConstitution is or was a moderate despotismtemperedby a Chamber that might or might not beelected. I never certainly could hear of its sitting in my timeatPumpernickel.  The Prime Minister had lodgings in asecondfloorand the Foreign Secretary occupied thecomfortablelodgings over Zwieback's Conditorey.  Thearmyconsisted of a magnificent band that also did dutyon thestagewhere it was quite pleasant to see theworthyfellows marching in Turkish dresses with rouge onand woodenscimitarsor as Roman warriors withophicleidesand trombones--to see them againI sayatnightafter one had listened to them all the morning intheAurelius Platzwhere they performed opposite thecafe wherewe breakfasted.  Besides the bandthere wasa rich andnumerous staff of officersandI believeafew men. Besides the regular sentriesthree or four menhabited ashussarsused to do duty at the Palacebut Inever sawthem on horsebackand au faitwhat was theuse ofcavalry in a time of profound peace?--and whitherthe deuceshould the hussars ride?

Everybody--everybodythat was noble of courseforas for thebourgeois we could not quite be expected totakenotice of THEM--visited his neighbour.  H.  E.  Madamede Burstreceived once a weekH.  E.  Madame deSchnurrbarthad her night--the theatre was open twicea weekthe Court graciously received onceso that aman's lifemight in fact be a perfect round of pleasure intheunpretending Pumpernickel way.

That therewere feuds in the placeno one can deny.Politicsran very high at Pumpernickeland parties wereverybitter.  There was the Strumpff faction and theLederlungpartythe one supported by our envoy and theother bythe French Charge d'AffairesM.  de Macabau.Indeed itsufficed for our Minister to stand up forMadameStrumpffwho was clearly the greater singer of thetwoandhad three more notes in her voice than MadameLederlungher rival--it sufficedI sayfor our Minister toadvanceany opinion to have it instantly contradictedby theFrench diplomatist.

Everybodyin the town was ranged in one or other ofthesefactions.  The Lederlung was a prettyish littlecreaturecertainlyand her voice (what there was of it) wasverysweetand there is no doubt that the Strumpff wasnot in herfirst youth and beautyand certainly too stout;when shecame on in the last scene of the Sonnambulaforinstancein her night-chemise with a lamp in herhandandhad to go out of the windowand pass overthe plankof the millit was all she could do tosqueezeout of the windowand the plank used to bendand creakagain under her weight--but how she pouredout thefinale of the opera!  and with what a burst offeelingshe rushed into Elvino's arms--almost fit tosmotherhim!  Whereas the little Lederlung--but a truceto thisgossip--the fact is that these two women werethe twoflags of the French and the English party atPumpernickeland the society was divided in itsallegianceto those two great nations.

We had onour side the Home Ministerthe Master ofthe Horsethe Duke's Private Secretaryand the Prince'sTutor;whereas of the French party were the ForeignMinisterthe Commander-in-Chief's Ladywho hadservedunder Napoleonand the Hof-Marschall and hiswifewhowas glad enough to get the fashions fromPansandalways had them and her caps by M.  deMacabau'scourier.  The Secretary of his Chancery was littleGrignacayoung fellowas malicious as Satanand whomadecaricatures of Tapeworm in all the-albums of theplace.

Theirheadquarters and table d'hote were establishedat thePariser Hofthe other inn of the town; and thoughof coursethese gentlemen were obliged to be civil inpublicyet they cut at each other with epigrams thatwere assharp as razorsas I have seen a couple ofwrestlersin Devonshirelashing at each other's shinsand nevershowing their agony upon a muscle of theirfaces. Neither Tapeworm nor Macabau ever sent homea dispatchto his government without a most savageseries ofattacks upon his rival.  For instanceon our sidewe wouldwrite"The interests of Great Britain in thisplaceandthroughout the whole of Germanyare perilledby thecontinuance in office of the present French envoy;this manis of a character so infamous that he will stickat nofalsehoodor hesitate at no crimeto attain hisends. He poisons the mind of the Court against theEnglishministerrepresents the conduct of Great Britain inthe mostodious and atrocious lightand is unhappilybacked bya minister whose ignorance and necessitiesare asnotorious as his influence is fatal." On their sidetheywould.say"M.  de Tapeworm continues hissystem ofstupid insular arrogance and vulgar falsehoodagainstthe greatest nation in the world.  Yesterday hewas heardto speak lightly of Her Royal Highness MadametheDuchess of Berri; on a former occasion he insultedthe heroicDuke of Angouleme and dared to insinuatethatH.R.H.  the Duke of Orleans was conspiring againstthe augustthrone of the lilies.  His gold is prodigated ineverydirection which his stupid menaces fail to frighten.By one andthe otherhe has won over creatures of theCourthere--andin finePumpernickel will not bequietGermany tranquilFrance respectedor Europecontentuntil this poisonous viper be crushed underheel": and so on.  When one side or the other had writtenanyparticularly spicy dispatchnews of it was sure toslip out.

Before thewinter was far advancedit is actually onrecordthat Emmy took a night and received companywith greatpropriety and modesty.  She had a Frenchmasterwho complimented her upon the purity of heraccent andher facility of learning; the fact is she hadlearnedlong ago and grounded herself subsequently in thegrammar soas to be able to teach it to George; and MadamStrumpffcame to give her lessons in singingwhich sheperformedso well and with such a true voice that theMajor'swindowswho had lodgings opposite under thePrimeMinisterwere always open to hear the lesson.Some ofthe German ladieswho are very sentimental andsimple intheir tastesfell in love with her and began tocall herdu at once.  These are trivial detailsbut theyrelate tohappy times.  The Major made himself George'stutor andread Caesar and mathematics with himandthey had aGerman master and rode out of evenings bythe sideof Emmy's carriage--she was always too timidand made adreadful outcry at the slightest disturbanceonhorse-back.  So she drove about with one of her dearGermanfriendsand Jos asleep on the back-seat of thebarouche.

He wasbecoming very sweet upon the Grafinn FannydeButterbroda very gentle tender-hearted andunassumingyoung creaturea Canoness and Countess in herown rightbut with scarcely ten pounds per year to herfortuneand Fanny for her part declared that to beAmelia'ssister was the greatest delight that Heaven couldbestow onherand Jos might have put a Countess's shieldandcoronet by the side of his own arms on his carriageand forks;when--when events occurredand thosegrandfetes given upon the marriage of the HereditaryPrince ofPumpernickel with the lovely Princess AmeliaofHumbourg-Schlippenschloppen took place.

At thisfestival the magnificence displayed was such ashad notbeen known in the little German place sincethe daysof the prodigal Victor XIV.  All the neighbouringPrincesPrincessesand Grandees were invited to thefeast. Beds rose to half a crown per night in Pumpernickeland theArmy was exhausted in providing guardsof honourfor the HighnessesSerenitiesand Excellencieswhoarrived from all quarters.  The Princess was marriedby proxyat her father's residenceby the Count deSchlusselback. Snuff-boxes were given away in profusion(as welearned from the Court jewellerwho soldandafterwards bought them again)and bushels of theOrder ofSaint Michael of Pumpernickel were sent tothe noblesof the Courtwhile hampers of the cordonsanddecorations of the Wheel of St.  Catherine ofSchlippenschloppenwere brought to ours.  The French envoygot both. "He is covered with ribbons like a prizecart-horse"Tapeworm saidwho was not allowed by the rulesof hisservice to take any decorations:  "Let him havethecordons; but with whom is the victory?" The fact isit was atriumph of British diplomacythe French partyhavingproposed and tried their utmost to carry amarriagewith a Princess of the House ofPotztausend-Donnerwetterwhomas a matter ofcourseweopposed.

Everybodywas asked to the fetes of the marriage.Garlandsand triumphal arches were hung across the roadto welcomethe young bride.  The great Saint Michael'sFountainran with uncommonly sour winewhile thatin theArtillery Place frothed with beer.  The great watersplayed;and poles were put up in the park and gardensfor thehappy peasantrywhich they might climb attheirleisurecarrying off watchessilver forksprizesausageshung with pink ribbon&c.at the top.  Georgygot onewrenching it offhaving swarmed up the pole tothedelight of the spectatorsand sliding down with therapidityof a fall of water.  But it was for the glory'ssakemerely.  The boy gave the sausage to a peasantwho hadvery nearly seized itand stood at the foot ofthe mastblubberingbecause he was unsuccessful.

At theFrench Chancellerie they had six more lampionsin theirillumination than ours had; but our transparencywhichrepresented the young Couple advancing andDiscordflying awaywith the most ludicrous likeness to theFrenchAmbassadorbeat the French picture hollow; andI have nodoubt got Tapeworm the advancement and theCross ofthe Bath which he subsequently attained.

Crowds offoreigners arrived for the fetesand ofEnglishof course.  Besides the Court ballspublic ballswere givenat the Town Hall and the Redouteand in theformerplace there was a room for trente-et-quaranteandroulette establishedfor the week of the festivitiesonlyandby one of the great German companies fromEms orAix-la-Chapelle.  The officers or inhabitants of thetown werenot allowed to play at these gamesbutstrangerspeasantsladies were admittedand any onewho choseto lose or win money.

Thatlittle scapegrace Georgy Osborne amongst otherswhosepockets were always full of dollars and whoserelationswere away at the grand festival of the Courtcame tothe Stadthaus Ball in company of his uncle'scourierMr. Kirschand having only peeped into aplay-roomat Baden-Baden when he hung on Dobbin's armand whereof coursehe was not permitted to gamblecameeagerly tothis part of the entertainment and hankeredround thetables where the croupiers and the punterswere atwork.  Women were playing; they were maskedsome ofthem; this license was allowed in these wild timesofcarnival.

A womanwith light hairin a low dress by no meansso freshas it had beenand with a black mask onthroughthe eyelets of which her eyes twinkled strangelywas seatedat one of the roulette-tables with a card anda pin anda couple of florins before her.  As the croupiercalled outthe colour and numbershe pricked on thecard withgreat care and regularityand only ventured hermoney onthe colours after the red or black had comeup acertain number of times.  It was strange to look ather.

But inspite of her care and assiduity she guessedwrong andthe last two florins followed each other underthecroupier's rakeas he cried out with his inexorablevoice thewinning colour and number.  She gave a sighashrug withher shoulderswhich were already too muchout of hergownand dashing the pin through the cardon to thetablesat thrumming it for a while.  Then shelookedround her and saw Georgy's honest face staringat thescene.  The little scamp!  What business had heto bethere?

When shesaw the boyat whose face she looked hardthroughher shining eyes and maskshe said"Monsieurn'est pasjoueur?"

"NonMadame" said the boy; but she must haveknownfrom his accentof what country he wasfor sheansweredhim with a slight foreign tone.  "You havenevareplayed--will you do me a littl' favor?"

"Whatis it?" said Georgyblushing again.  Mr. Kirschwas atwork for his part at the rouge et noir and did notsee hisyoung master.

"Playthis for meif you please; put it on any numberanynumber." And she took from her bosom a purseandout of ita gold piecethe only coin thereand she put itintoGeorge's hand.  The boy laughed and did as he wasbid.

The numbercame up sure enough.  There is a powerthatarranges thatthey sayfor beginners.

"Thankyou" said shepulling the money towards her"thankyou.  What is your name?"

"Myname's Osborne" said Georgyand was fingeringin his ownpockets for dollarsand just about to make atrialwhen the Majorin his uniformand Josen Marquisfrom theCourt ballmade their appearance.  Otherpeoplefinding the entertainment stupid and preferring thefun at theStadthaushad quitted the Palace ball earlier;but it isprobable the Major and Jos had gone home andfound theboy's absencefor the former instantly wentup to himandtaking him by the shoulderpulled himbrisklyback from the place of temptation.  Thenlookinground theroomhe saw Kirsch employed as we havesaidandgoing up to himasked how he dared to bringMr. Georgeto such a place.

"Laissez-moitranquille" said Mr. Kirschvery muchexcited byplay and wine.  "ll faut s'amuserparbleu.Je ne suispas au service de Monsieur."

Seeing hiscondition the Major did not choose to arguewith themanbut contented himself with drawing awayGeorge andasking Jos if he would come away.  He wasstandingclose by the lady in the maskwho was playingwithpretty good luck nowand looking on muchinterestedat the game.

"Hadn'tyou better comeJos" the Major said"withGeorge andme?"

"I'llstop and go home with that rascalKirsch" Jossaid; andfor the same reason of modestywhich hethoughtought to be preserved before the boyDobbindid notcare to remonstrate with Josbut left him andwalkedhome with Georgy.

"Didyou play?" asked the Major when they were outand ontheir way home.

The boysaid "No."

"Giveme your word of honour as a gentleman that youneverwill."

"Why?"said the boy; "it seems very good fun." Andina veryeloquent and impressive mannerthe Major showedhim why heshouldn'tand would have enforced hispreceptsby the example of Georgy's own fatherhad heliked tosay anything that should reflect on the other'smemory. When he had housed himhe went to bed andsaw hislightin the little room outside of Amelia'spresentlydisappear.  Amelia's followed half an hourafterwards. I don't know what made the Major note itsoaccurately.

Joshoweverremained behind over the play-table; hewas nogamblerbut not averse to the little excitementof thesport now and thenand he had some Napoleonschinkingin the embroidered pockets of his courtwaistcoat. He put down one over the fair shoulder of thelittlegambler before himand they won.  She made a littlemovementto make room for him by her sideandjust tookthe skirt of her gown from a vacant chair there.

"Comeand give me good luck" she saidstill in aforeignaccentquite different from that frank andperfectlyEnglish "Thank you" with which she had salutedGeorgy'scoup in her favour.  The portly gentlemanlookinground to see that nobody of rank observed himsat down;he muttered--"Ahreallywell nowGod blessmy soul. I'm very fortunate; I'm sure to give you goodfortune"and other words of compliment and confusion."Doyou play much?" the foreign mask said. "Iput a Nap or two down" said Jos with a superb airflingingdown a gold piece. "Yes;ay nap after dinner" said the mask archly.  ButJoslooking frightenedshe continuedin her prettyFrenchaccent"You do not play to win.  No more do I.I play toforgetbut I cannot.  I cannot forget old timesmonsieur. Your little nephew is the image of his father;andyou--you are not changed--but yesyou are.Everybodychangeseverybody forgets; nobody hasanyheart." "GoodGodwho is it?" asked Jos in a flutter.

"Can'tyou guessJoseph Sedley?" said the littlewoman in asad voiceand undoing her maskshelooked athim.  "You have forgotten me."

"Goodheavens!  Mrs. Crawley!" gasped out Jos.

"Rebecca"said the otherputting her hand on his;but shefollowed the game stillall the time she waslooking athim.

"I amstopping at the Elephant" she continued.  "Askfor Madamede Raudon.  I saw my dear Amelia to-day;how prettyshe lookedand how happy!  So do you!Everybodybut mewho am wretchedJoseph Sedley."And sheput her money over from the red to the blackas if by achance movement of her handand while shewas wipingher eyes with a pocket-handkerchief fringedwith tornlace.

The redcame up againand she lost the whole of thatstake.~"Come away" she said.  "Come with me a little--we areold friendsare we notdear Mr. Sedley?"

And Mr.Kirsch having lost all his money by thistimefollowed his master out into the moonlightwheretheilluminations were winking out and the transparencyover ourmission was scarcely visible.

CHAPTERLXIVAVagabond Chapter

We mustpass over a part of Mrs. Rebecca Crawley'sbiographywith that lightness and delicacy which theworlddemands--the moral worldthat hasperhapsnoparticularobjection to vicebut an insuperable repugnanceto hearingvice called by its proper name.  Thereare thingswe do and know perfectly well in Vanity Fairthough wenever speak of them:  as the Ahrimaniansworshipthe devilbut don't mention him:  and a politepublicwill no more bear to read an authentic descriptionof vicethan a truly refined English or American femalewillpermit the word breeches to be pronounced in herchastehearing.  And yetmadamboth are walking theworldbefore our faces every daywithout much shockingus. If you were to blush every time they went bywhatcomplexionsyou would have!  It is only when theirnaughtynames are called out that your modesty has anyoccasionto show alarm or sense of outrageand it hasbeen thewish of the present writerall through this storydeferentiallyto submit to the fashion at present prevailingand onlyto hint at the existence of wickedness in alighteasyand agreeable mannerso that nobody's finefeelingsmay be offended.  I defy any one to say thatour Beckywho has certainly some viceshas not beenpresentedto the public in a perfectly genteel andinoffensivemanner.  In describing this Sirensinging andsmilingcoaxing and cajolingthe authorwith modest prideasks hisreaders all roundhas he once forgotten thelaws ofpolitenessand showed the monster's hideous tailabovewater? No!  Those who like may peep down underwaves thatare pretty transparent and see it writhing andtwirlingdiabolically hideous and slimyflapping amongstbonesorcurling round corpses; but above the waterlineI askhasnot everything been properagreeableanddecorousand has any the most squeamish immoralistin VanityFair a right to cry fie? Whenhoweverthe Sirendisappearsand dives belowdown among the dead menthe waterof course grows turbid over herand it is labourlost tolook into it ever so curiously.  They look prettyenoughwhen they sit upon a rocktwanging their harpsandcombing their hairand singand beckon to you tocome andhold the looking-glass; but when they sinkinto theirnative elementdepend on itthose mermaidsare aboutno goodand we had best not examine thefiendishmarine cannibalsrevelling and feasting on theirwretchedpickled victims.  And sowhen Becky is out ofthe waybe sure that she is not particularly wellemployedand that the less that is said about her doingsis in factthe better.

If we wereto give a full account of her proceedingsduring acouple of years that followed after the CurzonStreetcatastrophethere might be some reason forpeople tosay this book was improper.  The actions of veryvainheartlesspleasure-seeking people are very oftenimproper(as are many of yoursmy friend with thegrave faceand spotless reputation--but that is merelyby theway); and what are those of a woman withoutfaith--orlove--or character? And I am inclined to thinkthat therewas a period in Mrs Becky's life whenshe wasseizednot by remorsebut by a kind of despairandabsolutely neglected her person and did not evencare forher reputation.

Thisabattement and degradation did not take placeall atonce; it was brought about by degreesafter hercalamityand after many struggles to keep up--as aman whogoes overboard hangs on to a spar whilst anyhope isleftand then flings it away and goes downwhenhe findsthat struggling is in vain.

Shelingered about London whilst her husband wasmakingpreparations for his departure to his seat ofgovernmentand it is believed made more than oneattempt tosee her brother-in-lawSir Pitt Crawleyand towork uponhis feelingswhich she had almostenlistedin her favour.  As Sir Pitt and Mr. Wenham werewalkingdown to the House of Commonsthe latter spiedMrs.Rawdon in a black veiland lurking near the palaceof thelegislature.  She sneaked away when her eyes metthose ofWenhamand indeed never succeeded in herdesignsupon the Baronet.

ProbablyLady Jane interposed.  I have heard that shequiteastonished her husband by the spirit which sheexhibitedin this quarreland her determination to disownMrs.Becky.  Of her own movementshe invited Rawdonto comeand stop in Gaunt Street until his departure forCoventryIslandknowing that with him for a guard Mrs.Beckywould not try to force her door; and she lookedcuriouslyat the superscriptions of all the letters whicharrivedfor Sir Pittlest he and his sister-in-law shouldbecorresponding.  Not but that Rebecca could havewrittenhad she a mindbut she did not try to see or to writeto Pitt athis own houseand after one or two attemptsconsentedto his demand that the correspondenceregardingher conjugal differences should be carried on bylawyersonly.

The factwas that Pitt's mind had been poisoned againsther. A short time after Lord Steyne's accident Wenhamhad beenwith the Baronet and given him such a biographyof Mrs.Becky as had astonished the member forQueen'sCrawley.  He knew everything regarding her:who herfather was; in what year her mother danced atthe opera;what had been her previous history; and whatherconduct during her married life--as I have no doubtthat thegreater part of the story was false anddictatedby interested malevolenceit shall not be repeatedhere. But Becky was left with a sad sad reputation in theesteem ofa country gentleman and relative who hadbeen oncerather partial to her.

Therevenues of the Governor of Coventry Island arenotlarge.  A part of them were set aside by his Excellencyfor thepayment of certain outstanding debts andliabilitiesthe charges incident on his high situationrequiredconsiderable expense; finallyit was found thathe couldnot spare to his wife more than three hundredpounds ayearwhich he proposed to pay to her onanundertaking that she would never trouble him.OtherwisescandalseparationDoctors' Commons wouldensue. But it was Mr. Wenham's businessLord Steyne'sbusinessRawdon'severybody's--to get her out of thecountryand hush up a most disagreeable affair.

She wasprobably so much occupied in arranging theseaffairs ofbusiness with her husband's lawyers that sheforgot totake any step whatever about her sonthe littleRawdonand did not even once propose to go and seehim. That young gentleman was consigned to the entireguardianshipof his aunt and unclethe former of whomhad alwayspossessed a great share of the child'saffection. His mamma wrote him a neat letter from Boulognewhen shequitted Englandin which she requested him tomind hisbookand said she was going to take aContinentaltourduring which she would have the pleasureof writingto him again.  But she never did for a yearafterwardsand notindeeduntil Sir Pitt's only boyalwayssicklydied of hooping-cough and measles--thenRawdon'smamma wrote the most affectionate compositionto herdarling sonwho was made heir of Queen'sCrawley bythis accidentand drawn more closely thanever tothe kind ladywhose tender heart had alreadyadoptedhim.  Rawdon Crawleythen grown a tallfineladblushed when he got the letter.  "OhAunt Janeyouare mymother!" he said; "and not--and not that one."But hewrote back a kind and respectful letter to Mrs.Rebeccathen living at a boarding-house at Florence.But we areadvancing matters.

Ourdarling Becky's first flight was not very far.  Sheperchedupon the French coast at Boulognethat refugeof so muchexiled English innocenceand there lived inrather agenteelwidowed mannerwith a femme dechambreand a couple of roomsat an hotel.  She dinedat thetable d'hotewhere people thought her very pleasantand whereshe entertained her neighbours by storiesof herbrotherSir Pittand her great London acquaintancetalkingthat easyfashionable slip-slop which hasso mucheffect upon certain folks of small breeding.  Shepassedwith many of them for a person of importance;she gavelittle tea-parties in her private room and sharedin theinnocent amusements of the place in sea-bathingand injaunts in open carriagesin strolls on the sandsand invisits to the play.  Mrs. Burjoicethe printer'sladywhowas boarding with her family at the hotel forthesummerand to whom her Burjoice came of aSaturdayand Sundayvoted her charminguntil that littlerogue of aBurjoice began to pay her too muchattention. But there was nothing in the storyonly thatBecky wasalways affableeasyand good-natured--andwith menespecially.

Numbers ofpeople were going abroad as usual at theend of theseasonand Becky had plenty of opportunitiesof findingout by the behaviour of her acquaintances ofthe greatLondon world the opinion of "society" asregardedher conduct.  One day it was Lady Partlet and herdaughterswhom Becky confronted as she was walkingmodestlyon Boulogne pierthe cliffs of Albion shiningin thedistance across the deep blue sea.  Lady Partletmarshalledall her daughters round her with a sweep ofherparasol and retreated from the pierdarting savageglances atpoor little Becky who stood alone there.

On anotherday the packet came in.  It had beenblowingfreshand it always suited Becky's humour tosee thedroll woe-begone faces of the people as theyemergedfrom the boat.  Lady Slingstone happened to beon boardthis day.  Her ladyship had been exceedingly illin hercarriageand was greatly exhausted and scarcelyfit towalk up the plank from the ship to the pier.  Butall herenergies rallied the instant she saw Becky smilingroguishlyunder a pink bonnetand giving her aglance ofscorn such as would have shrivelled up mostwomenshewalked into the Custom House quiteunsupported. Becky only laughed:  but I don't think she likedit. She felt she was alonequite aloneand the far-offshiningcliffs of England were impassable to her.

Thebehaviour of the men had undergone too I don'tknow whatchange.  Grinstone showed his teeth andlaughed inher face with a familiarity that was not pleasant.Little BobSucklingwho was cap in hand to herthreemonths beforeand would walk a mile in the rainto see forher carriage in the line at Gaunt Housewastalking toFitzoof of the Guards (Lord Heehaw's son)one dayupon the jettyas Becky took her walk there.LittleBobby nodded to her over his shoulderwithoutmoving hishatand continued his conversation with theheir ofHeehaw.  Tom Raikes tried to walk into hersitting-roomat the inn with a cigar in his mouthbut sheclosed thedoor upon himand would have locked itonly thathis fingers were inside.  She began to feel thatshe wasvery lonely indeed.  "If HE'D been here" she said"thosecowards would never have dared to insult me."Shethought about "him" with great sadness andperhapslonging--about his honeststupidconstant kindnessandfidelity; his never-ceasing obedience; his goodhumour;his bravery and courage.  Very likely she criedfor shewas particularly livelyand had put on a littleextrarougewhen she came down to dinner.

She rougedregularly now; and--and her maid gotCognac forher besides that which was charged in thehotelbill.

Perhapsthe insults of the men were nothoweversointolerableto her as the sympathy of certain women.Mrs.Crackenbury and Mrs. Washington White passedthroughBoulogne on their way to Switzerland.  ~The partywereprotected by Colonel Horneryoung Beaumorisandof courseold Crackenburyand Mrs. White's little girl.)THEY didnot avoid her.  They giggledcackledtattledcondoledconsoledand patronized her until they droveher almostwild with rage.  To be patronized by THEM!shethoughtas they went away simpering after kissingher. And she heard Beaumoris's laugh ringing on thestair andknew quite well how to interpret his hilarity.

It wasafter this visit that Beckywho had paid herweeklybillsBecky who had made herself agreeable toeverybodyin the housewho smiled at the landladycalled thewaiters "monsieur" and paid the chambermaidsinpoliteness and apologieswhat far more thancompensatedfor a little niggardliness in point of money(of whichBecky never was free)that Beckywe sayreceived anotice to quit from the landlordwho hadbeen toldby some one that she was quite an unfitperson tohave at his hotelwhere English ladies would notsit downwith her.  And she was forced to fly into lodgingsof whichthe dulness and solitude were most wearisometo her.

Still sheheld upin spite of these rebuffsand tried tomake acharacter for herself and conquer scandal.  Shewent tochurch very regularly and sang louder thananybodythere.  She took up the cause of the widows of theshipwreckedfishermenand gave work and drawings fortheQuashyboo Mission; she subscribed to the AssemblyandWOULDN'T waltz.  In a wordshe did everything thatwasrespectableand that is why we dwell upon thispart ofher career with more fondness than uponsubsequentparts of her historywhich are not so pleasant.She sawpeople avoiding herand still laboriously smiledupon them;you never could suppose from hercountenancewhat pangs of humiliation she might beenduringinwardly.

Herhistory was after all a mystery.  Parties weredividedabout her.  Some people who took the trouble tobusythemselves in the matter said that she was thecriminalwhilst others vowed that she was as innocentas a lamband that her odious husband was in fault.She wonover a good many by bursting into tearsabout herboy and exhibiting the most frantic griefwhen hisname was mentionedor she saw anybody likehim. She gained good Mrs. Alderney's heart in that waywho wasrather the Queen of British Boulogne and gavethe mostdinners and balls of all the residents therebyweepingwhen Master Alderney came from Dr. Swishtail'sacademy topass his holidays with his mother.  "He andher Rawdonwere of the same ageand so like" Beckysaid in avoice choking with agony; whereas there wasfiveyears' difference between the boys' agesand nomorelikeness between them than between my respectedreader andhis humble servant.  Wenhamwhen he wasgoingabroadon his way to Kissingen to join LordSteyneenlightened Mrs. Alderney on this point and toldher how hewas much more able to describe littleRawdonthan his mammawho notoriously hated him andnever sawhim; how he was thirteen years oldwhilelittleAlderney was but ninefairwhile the other darlingwasdark--in a wordcaused the lady in question torepent ofher good humour.

WheneverBecky made a little circle for herself withincredibletoils and laboursomebody came and swept itdownrudelyand she had all her work to begin overagain. It was very hard; very hard; lonely anddisheartening.

There wasMrs. Newbrightwho took her up for sometimeattracted by the sweetness of her singing at churchand by herproper views upon serious subjectsconcerningwhich informer daysat Queen's CrawleyMrs.Becky hadhad a good deal of instruction.  Wellshe notonly tooktractsbut she read them.  She worked flannelpetticoatsfor the Quashyboos--cotton night-caps for theCocoanutIndians--painted handscreens for theconversionof the Pope and the Jews--sat under Mr. RowlsonWednesdaysMr. Huggleton on Thursdaysattendedtwo Sundayservices at churchbesides Mr. BawlertheDarbyitein the eveningand all in vain.  Mrs. Newbrighthadoccasion to correspond with the Countess of Southdownabout theWarmingpan Fund for the FijiIslanders(for the management of which admirablecharityboth these ladies formed part of a female committee)and havingmentioned her "sweet friend" Mrs. RawdonCrawleythe Dowager Countess wrote back such aletterregarding Beckywith such particularshintsfactsfalsehoodsand general comminationsthat intimacybetweenMrs. Newbright and Mrs. Crawley ceased forthwithand allthe serious world of Tourswhere this misfortunetookplaceimmediately parted company with thereprobate. Those who know the English Colonies abroadknow thatwe carry with us us our pridepillsprejudicesHarvey-saucescayenne-peppersand other Laresmaking alittle Britain wherever we settle down.

From onecolony to another Becky fled uneasily.  FromBoulogneto Dieppefrom Dieppe to Caenfrom CaentoTours--trying with all her might to be respectableand alas! always found out some day or other andpecked outof the cage by the real daws.

Mrs. HookEagles took her up at one of these places--a womanwithout a blemish in her character and a housein PortmanSquare.  She was staying at the hotel at DieppewhitherBecky fledand they made each other's acquaintancefirst atseawhere they were swimming togetherandsubsequently at the table d'hote of the hotel.  MrsEagles hadheard--who indeed had not?--some of thescandal ofthe Steyne affair; but after a conversationwithBeckyshe pronounced that Mrs. Crawley was anangelherhusband a ruffianLord Steyne anunprincipledwretchas everybody knewand the whole caseagainstMrs. Crawley an infamous and wicked conspiracyof thatrascal Wenham.  "If you were a man ofanyspiritMr. Eaglesyou would box the wretch's earsthe nexttime you see him at the Club" she said to herhusband. But Eagles was only a quiet old gentlemanhusband toMrs. Eagleswith a taste for geologyand not tallenough toreach anybody's ears.

The Eaglesthen patronized Mrs. Rawdontook her tolive withher at her own house at Parisquarrelled withtheambassador's wife because she would not receive herprotegeeand did all that lay in woman's power to keepBeckystraight in the paths of virtue and good repute.

Becky wasvery respectable and orderly at firstbutthe lifeof humdrum virtue grew utterly tedious to herbeforelong.  It was the same routine every daythe samedulnessand comfortthe same drive over the samestupidBois de Boulognethe same company of aneveningthe same Blair's Sermon of a Sunday night--thesame operaalways being acted over and over again;Becky wasdying of wearinesswhenluckily for heryoung Mr.Eagles came from Cambridgeand his motherseeing theimpression which her little friend made uponhimstraightway gave Becky warning.

Then shetried keeping house with a female friend;then thedouble menage began to quarrel and get intodebt. Then she determined upon a boarding-house existenceand livedfor some time at that famous mansionkept byMadame de Saint Amourin the Rue RoyaleatPariswhere she began exercising her graces andfascinationsupon the shabby dandies and fly-blown beautieswhofrequented her landlady's salons.  Becky lovedsocietyandindeedcould no more exist without it than anopium-eaterwithout his dramand she was happyenough atthe period of her boarding-house life.  "Thewomen hereare as amusing as those in May Fair" shetold anold London friend who met her"onlytheirdressesare not quite so fresh.  The men wear cleanedglovesand are sad roguescertainlybut they are notworse thanJack This and Tom That.  The mistress of thehouse is alittle vulgarbut I don't think she is so vulgaras Lady--" and here she named the name of agreatleader of fashion that I would die rather thanreveal. In factwhen you saw Madame de Saint Amour'sroomslighted up of a nightmen with plaques andcordons atthe ecarte tablesand the women at a littledistanceyou might fancy yourself for a while in goodsocietyand that Madame was a real Countess.  Manypeople didso fancyand Becky was for a while one of themostdashing ladies of the Countess's salons.

But it isprobable that her old creditors of 1815 foundher outand caused her to leave Parisfor the poor littlewoman wasforced to fly from the city rather suddenlyand wentthence to Brussels.

How wellshe remembered the place!  She grinned asshe lookedup at the little entresol which she hadoccupiedand thought of the Bareacres familybawlingfor horsesand flightas their carriage stood in theporte-cochereof the hotel.  She went to Waterloo and toLaekenwhere George Osborne's monument muchstruckher.  She made a little sketch of it.  "That poorCupid!"she said; "how dreadfully he was in love withmeandwhat a fool he was!  I wonder whether littleEmmy isalive.  It was a good little creature; and thatfatbrother of hers.  I have his funny fat picture stillamong mypapers.  They were kind simple people."

AtBrussels Becky arrivedrecommended by Madamede SaintAmour to her friendMadame la Comtesse deBorodinowidow of Napoleon's Generalthe famousCount deBorodinowho was left with no resource by thedeceasedhero but that of a table d'hote and an ecartetable. Second-rate dandies and roueswidow-ladies whoalwayshave a lawsuitand very simple English folkswhofancy theysee "Continental society" at these housesputdown theirmoneyor ate their mealsat Madame deBorodino'stables.  The gallant young fellows treated thecompanyround to champagne at the table d'hoterodeout withthe womenor hired horses on country excursionsclubbedmoney to take boxes at the play or theoperabetted over the fair shoulders of the ladies at theecartetablesand wrote home to their parents inDevonshireabout their felicitous introduction to foreignsociety.

Hereasat ParisBecky was a boarding-house queenand ruledin select pensions.  She never refused thechampagneor the bouquetsor the drives into the countryor theprivate boxes; but what she preferred was theecarte atnight--and she played audaciously.  First sheplayedonly for a littlethen for five-franc piecesthen forNapoleonsthen for notes:  then she would not be ableto pay hermonth's pension:  then she borrowed fromthe younggentlemen:  then she got into cash again andbulliedMadame de Borodinowhom she had coaxed andwheedledbefore:  then she was playing for ten sous at atimeandin a dire state of poverty:  then her quarter'sallowancewould come inand she would pay off MadamedeBorodino's score and would once more take thecardsagainst Monsieur de Rossignolor the Chevalier deRaff.

When Beckyleft Brusselsthe sad truth is that sheowed threemonths' pension to Madame de Borodinoofwhichfactand of the gamblingand of the drinkingandof thegoing down on her knees to the Reverend Mr.MuffMinistre Anglicanand borrowing money of himand of hercoaxing and flirting with Milor Noodleson ofSirNoodlepupil of the Rev.  Mr. Muffwhom she usedto takeinto her private roomand of whom she wonlarge sumsat ecarte--of which factI sayand of ahundred ofher other knaveriesthe Countess deBorodinoinforms every English person who stops at herestablishmentand announces that Madame Rawdon wasno betterthan a vipere.

So ourlittle wanderer went about setting up her tentin variouscities of Europeas restless as Ulysses orBampfyldeMoore Carew.  Her taste for disrespectabilitygrew moreand more remarkable.  She became a perfectBohemianere longherding with people whom it wouldmake yourhair stand on end to meet.

There isno town of any mark in Europe but it has itslittlecolony of English raffs--men whose names Mr.Hemp theofficer reads out periodically at the Sheriffs'Court--younggentlemen of very good family oftenonlythat thelatter disowns them; frequenters of billiard-rooms andestaminetspatrons of foreign races andgaming-tables. They people the debtors' prisons--theydrink andswagger--they fight and brawl--they run awaywithoutpaying--they have duels with French and Germanofficers--theycheat Mr. Spooney at ecarte--they getthe moneyand drive off to Baden in magnificent britzkas--they trytheir infallible martingale and lurk about thetableswith empty pocketsshabby bulliespennilessbucksuntil they can swindle a Jew banker with a shambill ofexchangeor find another Mr. Spooney to rob.Thealternations of splendour and misery which thesepeopleundergo are very queer to view.  Their life mustbe one ofgreat excitement.  Becky--must it be owned?--took tothis lifeand took to it not unkindly.  She wentabout fromtown to town among these Bohemians.  Thelucky Mrs.Rawdon was known at every play-table inGermany. She and Madame de Cruchecassee kept house atFlorencetogether.  It is said she was ordered out ofMunichand my friend Mr. Frederick Pigeon avers that itwas at herhouse at Lausanne that he was hocussed atsupper andlost eight hundred pounds to Major Loderand theHonourable Mr. Deuceace.  We are boundyouseetogive some account of Becky's biographybut ofthis partthe lessperhapsthat is said the better.

They saythatwhen Mrs. Crawley was particularlydown onher luckshe gave concerts and lessons in musichere andthere.  There was a Madame de Raudonwhocertainlyhad a matinee musicale at Wildbadaccompaniedby Herr Spoffpremier pianist to the Hospodar ofWallachiaand my little friend Mr. Eaveswho kneweverybodyand had travelled everywherealways used todeclarethat he was at Strasburg in the year 1830when acertainMadame Rebecque made her appearance in theopera ofthe Dame Blanchegiving occasion to a furiousrow in thetheatre there.  She was hissed off the stage bytheaudiencepartly from her own incompetencybutchieflyfrom the ill-advised sympathy of some persons intheparquet(where the officers of the garrison had theiradmissions);and Eaves was certain that the unfortunatedebutantein question was no other than Mrs.RawdonCrawley.

She wasin factno better than a vagabond upon thisearth. When she got her money she gambled; when shehadgambled it she was put to shifts to live; who knowshow or bywhat means she succeeded? It is said that shewas onceseen at St.  Petersburgbut was summarilydismissedfrom that capital by the policeso that therecannot beany possibility of truth in the report that she wasa Russianspy at Toplitz and Vienna afterwards.  I haveeven beeninformed that at Paris she discovered arelationof her ownno less a person than her maternalgrandmotherwho was not by any means aMontmorencibut a hideous old box-opener at a theatre ontheBoulevards.  The meeting between themof whichotherpersonsas it is hinted elsewhereseem to havebeenacquaintedmust have been a very affectinginterview. The present historian can give no certain detailsregardingthe event.

Ithappened at Rome once that Mrs. de Rawdon's half-year'ssalary had just been paid into the principalbanker'sthereandas everybody who had a balance ofabove fivehundred scudi was invited to the balls whichthisprince of merchants gave during the winterBeckyhad thehonour of a cardand appeared at one of thePrince andPrincess Polonia's splendid evening entertainments.ThePrincess was of the family of Pompililineallydescendedfrom the second king of Romeand Egeriaof thehouse of Olympuswhile the Prince's grandfatherAlessandroPoloniasold wash-ballsessencestobaccoand pocket-handkerchiefsran errands forgentlemenand lent money in a small way.  All the greatcompany inRome thronged to his saloons--PrincesDukesAmbassadorsartistsfiddlersmonsignoriyoungbears withtheir leaders--every rank and condition ofman. His halls blazed with light and magnificence; wereresplendentwith gilt frames (containing pictures)anddubiousantiques; and the enormous gilt crown and armsof theprincely ownera gold mushroom on a crimsonfield (thecolour of the pocket-handkerchiefs which hesold)andthe silver fountain of the Pompili family shoneall overthe roofdoorsand panels of the houseandover thegrand velvet baldaquins prepared to receivePopes andEmperors.

So Beckywho had arrived in the diligence fromFlorenceand was lodged at an inn in a very modest waygot a cardfor Prince Polonia's entertainmentand hermaiddressed her with unusual careand she went to thisfine ballleaning on the arm of Major Loderwith whomshehappened to be travelling at the time--(the sameman whoshot Prince Ravoli at Naples the next yearandwas canedby Sir John Buckskin for carrying four kingsin his hatbesides those which he used in playing atecarte)--and this pair went into the rooms togetherand Beckysaw a number of old faces which sherememberedin happier dayswhen she was not innocentbut notfound out.  Major Loder knew a great numberofforeignerskeen-looking whiskered men with dirtystripedribbons in their buttonholesand a very smalldisplay oflinen; but his own countrymenit might beremarkedeschewed the Major.  Beckytooknew someladieshere and there--French widowsdubious Italiancountesseswhose husbands had treated them ill--faugh--whatshall we saywe who have moved amongsome ofthe finest company of Vanity Fairof this refuseandsediment of rascals? If we playlet it be with cleancardsandnot with this dirty pack.  But every man whohas formedone of the innumerable army of travellershas seenthese marauding irregulars hanging onlikeNym andPistolto the main forcewearing the king'scoloursand boasting of his commissionbut pillagingforthemselvesand occasionally gibbeted by the roadside.

Wellshewas hanging on the arm of Major Loderand theywent through the rooms togetherand drank agreatquantity of champagne at the buffetwhere thepeopleand especially the Major's irregular corpsstruggledfuriously for refreshmentsof which when thepair hadhad enoughthey pushed on until they reachedtheDuchess's own pink velvet saloonat the end of thesuite ofapartments (where the statue of the Venus isand thegreat Venice looking-glassesframed in silver)and wherethe princely family were entertaining theirmostdistinguished guests at a round table at supper.  Itwas justsuch a little select banquet as that of whichBeckyrecollected that she had partaken at Lord Steyne's--andthere he sat at Polonia's tableand she saw him.The scarcut by the diamond on his whitebaldshiningforehead made a burning red mark; his red whiskerswere dyedof a purple huewhich made his pale facelook stillpaler.  He wore his collar and ordershis blueribbon andgarter.  He was a greater Prince than anytherethough there was a reigning Duke and a RoyalHighnesswith their princessesand near his Lordshipwas seatedthe beautiful Countess of BelladonnaneedeGlandierwhose husband (the Count Paolo dellaBelladonna)so well known for his brilliant entomologicalcollectionshad been long absent on a mission to theEmperor ofMorocco.

When Beckybeheld that familiar and illustrious facehow vulgarall of a sudden did Major Loder appear toherandhow that odious Captain Rook did smell oftobacco! In one instant she reassumed her fine-ladyshipand triedto look and feel as if she were in May Faironcemore.  "That woman looks stupid and ill-humoured"shethought; "I am sure she can't amuse him.  Nohe mustbe boredby her--he never was by me." A hundred suchtouchinghopesfearsand memories palpitated in herlittleheartas she looked with her brightest eyes (therougewhich she wore up to her eyelids made themtwinkle)towards the great nobleman.  Of a Star and Garternight LordSteyne used also to put on his grandestmanner andto look and speak like a great princeas he was.Beckyadmired him smiling sumptuouslyeasyloftyandstately. Ahbon Dieuwhat a pleasant companion hewaswhata brilliant witwhat a rich fund of talkwhata grandmanner!--and she had exchanged this for MajorLoderreeking of cigars and brandy-and-waterandCaptainRook with his horsejockey jokes and prize-ringslangandtheir like.  "I wonder whether he will knowme"she thought.  Lord Steyne was talking and laughingwith agreat and illustrious lady at his sidewhen helooked upand saw Becky.

She wasall over in a flutter as their eyes metand sheput on thevery best smile she could musterand droppedhim alittletimidimploring curtsey.  He stared aghastat her fora minuteas Macbeth might on beholdingBanquo'ssudden appearance at his ball-supperand remainedlooking ather with open mouthwhen that horrid MajorLoderpulled her away.

"Comeaway into the supper-roomMrs. R." was thatgentleman'sremark:  "seeing these nobs grubbing awayhas mademe peckish too.  Let's go and try the oldgovernor'schampagne." Becky thought the Major had hada greatdeal too much already.

The dayafter she went to walk on the Pincian Hill--the HydePark of the Roman idlers--possibly in hopes tohaveanother sight of Lord Steyne.  But she met anotheracquaintancethere:  it was Mr. Fichehis lordship'sconfidentialmanwho came up nodding to her ratherfamiliarlyand putting a finger to his hat.  "I knew that Madamewas here"he said; "I followed her from her hotel.  I havesomeadvice to give Madame."

"Fromthe Marquis of Steyne?" Becky askedresumingas much ofher dignity as she could musterand nota littleagitated by hope and expectation.

"No"said the valet; "it is from me.  Rome is veryunwholesome."

"Notat this seasonMonsieur Fiche--not till afterEaster."

"Itell Madame it is unwholesome now.  There is alwaysmalariafor some people.  That cursed marsh wind killsmany atall seasons.  LookMadame Crawleyyou werealways bonenfantand I have an interest in youparoled'honneur. Be warned.  Go away from RomeI tell you--or youwill be ill and die."

Beckylaughedthough in rage and fury.  "What!assassinatepoor little me?" she said.  "How romantic!  Doesmy lordcarry bravos for couriersand stilettos in thefourgons?Bah!  I will stayif but to plague him.  I havethose whowill defend me whilst I am here."

It wasMonsieur Fiche's turn to laugh now.  "Defendyou"he said"and who? The Majorthe Captainanyone ofthose gambling men whom Madame sees wouldtake herlife for a hundred louis.  We know things aboutMajorLoder (he is no more a Major than I am my LordtheMarquis) which would send him to the galleys orworse. We know everything and have friends everywhere.We knowwhom you saw at Parisand what relations youfoundthere.  YesMadame may starebut we do.  Howwas itthat no minister on the Continent would receiveMadame?She has offended somebody:  who neverforgives--whoserage redoubled when he saw you.  He waslike amadman last night when he came home.  MadamedeBelladonna made him a scene about you and fired offin one ofher furies."

"Ohit was Madame de Belladonnawas it?" Beckysaidrelieved a littlefor the information she had just gothad scaredher.

"No--shedoes not matter--she is always jealous.  Itell youit was Monseigneur.  You did wrong to showyourselfto him.  And if you stay here you will repent it.  Markmy words. Go.  Here is my lord's carriage"--and seizingBecky'sarmhe rushed down an alley of the garden asLordSteyne's baroucheblazing with heraldic devicescamewhirling along the avenueborne by the almostpricelesshorsesand bearing Madame de Belladonnalolling onthe cushionsdarksulkyand bloominga KingCharles inher lapa white parasol swaying over herheadandold Steyne stretched at her side with a lividface andghastly eyes.  Hateor angeror desire causedthem tobrighten now and then stillbut ordinarilytheygave nolightand seemed tired of looking out on a worldof whichalmost all the pleasure and all the best beautyhad palledupon the worn-out wicked old man.

"Monseigneurhas never recovered the shock of thatnightnever" Monsieur Fiche whispered to Mrs. Crawleyas thecarriage flashed byand she peeped out at itfrombehind the shrubs that hid her.  "That was aconsolationat any rate" Becky thought.

Whether mylord really had murderous intentionstowardsMrs. Becky as Monsieur Fiche said (sinceMonseigneur'sdeath he has returned to his native countrywhere helives much respectedand has purchased fromhis Princethe title of Baron Ficci)and the factotumobjectedto have to do with assassination; or whether hesimply hada commission to frighten Mrs. Crawley out ofa citywhere his Lordship proposed to pass the winterand thesight of her would be eminently disagreeable tothe greatnoblemanis a point which has never beenascertained: but the threat had its effect upon the littlewomanandshe sought no more to intrude herself uponthepresence of her old patron.

Everybodyknows the melancholy end of thatnoblemanwhich befell at Naples two months after the FrenchRevolutionof 1830; when the Most Honourable GeorgeGustavusMarquis of SteyneEarl of Gaunt and of GauntCastleinthe Peerage of IrelandViscount HellboroughBaronPitchley and Grillsbya Knight of the Most NobleOrder ofthe Garterof the Golden Fleece of SpainoftheRussian Order of Saint Nicholas of the First ClassoftheTurkish Order of the CrescentFirst Lord of thePowderCloset and Groom of the Back StairsColonel ofthe Gauntor Regent's Own Regiment of Militiaa Trusteeof theBritish Museuman Elder Brother of the TrinityHouseaGovernor of the White Friarsand D.C.L.--died aftera series of fits brought onas the papers saidby theshock occasioned to his lordship's sensibilities bythedownfall of the ancient French monarchy.

Aneloquent catalogue appeared in a weekly printdescribinghis virtueshis magnificencehis talentsandhis goodactions.  His sensibilityhis attachment to theillustriousHouse of Bourbonwith which he claimed analliancewere such that he could not survive themisfortunesof his august kinsmen.  His body was buried atNaplesand his heart--that heart which always beat witheverygenerous and noble emotion was brought back toCastleGaunt in a silver urn.  "In him" Mr. Wagg said"thepoor and the Fine Arts have lost a beneficent patronsocietyone of its most brilliant ornamentsand Englandone of herloftiest patriots and statesmen" &c.&c.

His willwas a good deal disputedand an attempt wasmade toforce from Madame de Belladonna thecelebratedjewel called the "Jew's-eye" diamondwhich hislordshipalways wore on his forefingerand which it wassaid thatshe removed from it after his lamented demise.But hisconfidential friend and attendantMonsieur Ficheprovedthat the ring had been presented to the saidMadame deBelladonna two days before the Marquis'sdeathaswere the bank-notesjewelsNeapolitan andFrenchbonds&c.found in his lordship's secretaire andclaimed byhis heirs from that injured woman.

CHAPTERLXVFull ofBusiness and Pleasure

The dayafter the meeting at the play-tableJos hadhimselfarrayed with unusual care and splendourandwithoutthinking it necessary to say a word to anymember ofhis family regarding the occurrences of the previousnightorasking for their company in his walkhe salliedforth atan early hourand was presently seen makinginquiriesat the door of the Elephant Hotel.  In consequenceof thefetes the house was full of companythetables inthe street were already surrounded by personssmokingand drinking the national small-beerthe publicrooms werein a cloud of smokeand Mr. Jos havinginhispompous wayand with his clumsy Germanmadeinquiriesfor the person of whom he was in searchwasdirectedto the very top of the houseabove the first-floorroomswhere some travelling pedlars had livedand wereexhibitingtheir jewellery and brocades; above the second-floorapartments occupied by the etat major of thegamblingfirm; above the third-floor roomstenanted by theband ofrenowned Bohemian vaulters and tumblers; andso on tothe little cabins of the roofwhereamongstudentsbagmensmall tradesmenand country-folks comein for thefestivalBecky had found a little nest--as dirtya littlerefuge as ever beauty lay hid in.

Beckyliked the life.  She was at home with everybodyin theplacepedlarspunterstumblersstudents and all.She was ofa wildroving natureinherited from fatherandmotherwho were both Bohemiansby taste andcircumstance;if a lord was not byshe would talk to hiscourierwith the greatest pleasure; the dinthe stirthedrinkthesmokethe tattle of the Hebrew pedlarsthesolemnbraggart ways of the poor tumblersthe sournoistalk ofthe gambling-table officialsthe songs and swaggerof thestudentsand the general buzz and hum ofthe placehad pleased and tickled the little womanevenwhen herluck was down and she had not wherewithal topay herbill.  How pleasant was all the bustle to her nowthat herpurse was full of the money which little Georgyhad wonfor her the night before!

As Joscame creaking and puffing up the final stairsand wasspeechless when he got to the landingand beganto wipehis face and then to look for No.  92the roomwhere hewas directed to seek for the person he wantedthe doorof the opposite chamberNo.  90was openand astudentin jack-boots and a dirty schlafrockwaslying onthe bed smoking a long pipe; whilst anotherstudent inlong yellow hair and a braided coatexceedingsmart anddirty toowas actually on his knees at No.  92bawlingthrough the keyhole supplications to the personwithin.

"Goaway" said a well-known voicewhich made Josthrill"Iexpect somebody; I expect my grandpapa.  Hemustn'tsee you there."

"AngelEnglanderinn!" bellowed the kneeling studentwith thewhity-brown ringlets and the large finger-ring"dotake compassion upon us.  Make an appointment.Dine withme and Fritz at the inn in the park.  We willhave roastpheasants and porterplum-pudding andFrenchwine.  We shall die if you don't."

"Thatwe will" said the young nobleman on the bed;and thiscolloquy Jos overheardthough he did notcomprehenditfor the reason that he had never studiedthelanguage in which it was carried on.

"Newmerokattervang doozesi vous plait" Jos saidin hisgrandest mannerwhen he was able to speak.

"Quaterfang tooce!" said the studentstarting upandhe bouncedinto his own roomwhere he locked the doorand whereJos heard him laughing with his comrade onthe bed.

Thegentleman from Bengal was standingdisconcertedby thisincidentwhen the door of the 92 opened ofitself andBecky's little head peeped out full of archnessandmischief.  She lighted on Jos.  "It's you" shesaidcomingout.  "How I have been waiting for you!  Stop!notyet--in one minute you shall come in." In that instantshe put arouge-pota brandy bottleand a plate of brokenmeat intothe bedgave one smooth to her hairandfinallylet in her visitor.

She hadby way of morning robea pink dominoatriflefaded and soiledand marked here and there withpomaturn;but her arms shone out from the loose sleevesof thedress very white and fairand it was tied roundher littlewaist so as not ill to set off the trim little figureof thewearer.  She led Jos by the hand into her garret."Comein" she said.  "Come and talk to me.  Sit yonderon thechair"; and she gave the civilian's hand a littlesqueezeand laughingly placed him upon it.  As forherselfshe placed herself on the bed--not on the bottleand plateyou may be sure--on which Jos might havereposedhad he chosen that seat; and so there she satand talkedwith her old admirer. "How little years have changed you" she said with alook oftender interest.  "I should have known youanywhere. What a comfort it is amongst strangers to seeonce morethe frank honest face of an old friend!"

The frankhonest faceto tell the truthat thismomentbore any expression but one of openness andhonesty: it wason the contrarymuch perturbed andpuzzled inlook.  Jos was surveying the queer little apartmentin whichhe found his old flame.  One of her gowns hungover thebedanother depending from a hook of the door;her bonnetobscured half the looking-glasson whichtoolaythe prettiest little pair of bronze boots; a Frenchnovel wason the table by the bedsidewith a candlenotof wax. Becky thought of popping that into the bed toobut sheonly put in the little paper night-cap with whichshe hadput the candle out on going to sleep.

"Ishould have known you anywhere" she continued;"awoman never forgets some things.  And you were thefirst manI ever--I ever saw."

"WasI really?" said Jos.  "God bless my soulyou--you don'tsay so."

"WhenI came with your sister from ChiswickI wasscarcelymore than a child" Becky said.  "How is thatdear love?Ohher husband was a sad wicked manandof courseit was of me that the poor dear was jealous.As if Icared about himheigho!  when there wassomebody--butno--don't let us talk of old times"; and shepassed herhandkerchief with the tattered lace acrosshereyelids.

"Isnot this a strange place" she continued"for awomanwhohas lived in a very different world tooto befound in?I have had so many griefs and wrongsJosephSedley; Ihave been made to suffer so cruelly that I amalmostmade mad sometimes.  I can't stay still in anyplacebutwander about always restless and unhappy.All myfriends have been false to me--all.  There is nosuch thingas an honest man in the world.  I was the truestwife thatever livedthough I married my husband out ofpiquebecause somebody else--but never mind that.  Iwas trueand he trampled upon me and deserted me.  Iwas thefondest mother.  I had but one childone darlingone hopeone joywhich I held to my heart with a mother'saffectionwhich was my lifemy prayermy--myblessing;and they--they tore it from me--tore it fromme";and she put her hand to her heart with a passionategesture ofdespairburying her face for a moment on thebed.

Thebrandy-bottle inside clinked up against the platewhich heldthe cold sausage.  Both were movedno doubtby theexhibition of so much grief.  Max and Fritz were atthe doorlistening with wonder to Mrs. Becky's sobs andcries. Jostoowas a good deal frightened and affected atseeing hisold flame in this condition.  And she beganforthwithto tell her story--a tale so neatsimpleandartlessthat it was quite evident from hearing her that ifever therewas a white-robed angel escaped from heavento besubject to the infernal machinations and villainy offiendshere belowthat spotless being--that miserableunsulliedmartyrwas present on the bed before Jos--onthe bedsitting on the brandy-bottle.

They had avery longamicableand confidential talkthereinthe course of which Jos Sedley was somehowmade aware(but in a manner that did not in the leastscare oroffend him) that Becky's heart had first learnedto beat athis enchanting presence; that George Osbornehadcertainly paid an unjustifiable court to HERwhichmightaccount for Amelia's jealousy and their littlerupture;but that Becky never gave the least encouragementto theunfortunate officerand that she had never ceasedto thinkabout Jos from the very first day she had seenhimthoughof courseher duties as a married womanwereparamount--duties which she had always preservedand wouldto her dying dayor until the proverbially badclimate inwhich Colonel Crawley was living shouldreleaseher from a yoke which his cruelty had renderedodious toher.

Jos wentawayconvinced that she was the most virtuousas she wasone of the most fascinating of womenandrevolving in his mind all sorts of benevolent schemesfor herwelfare.  Her persecutions ought to be ended:she oughtto return to the society of which she was anornament. He would see what ought to be done.  Shemust quitthat place and take a quiet lodging.  Ameliamust comeand see her and befriend her.  He would goand settleabout itand consult with the Major.  She wepttears ofheart-felt gratitude as she parted from himandpressedhis hand as the gallant stout gentleman stoopeddown tokiss hers.

So Beckybowed Jos out of her little garret with asmuch graceas if it was a palace of which she did thehonours;and that heavy gentleman having disappeareddown thestairsMax and Fritz came out of their holepipe inmouthand she amused herself by mimicking Josto them asshe munched her cold bread and sausage andtookdraughts of her favourite brandy-and-water.

Jos walkedover to Dobbin's lodgings with greatsolemnityand there imparted to him the affecting historywith whichhe had just been made acquaintedwithouthowevermentioning the play business of the night before.And thetwo gentlemen were laying their heads togetherandconsulting as to the best means of being useful toMrs.Beckywhile she was finishing her interrupteddejeuner ala fourchette.

How was itthat she had come to that little town?How was itthat she had no friends and was wanderingaboutalone? Little boys at school are taught in theirearliestLatin book that the path of Avernus is very easyofdescent.  Let us skip over the interval in the history ofherdownward progress.  She was not worse now than shehad beenin the days of her prosperity--only a littledown onher luck.

As forMrs. Ameliashe was a woman of such a softandfoolish disposition that when she heard of anybodyunhappyher heart straightway melted towards thesufferer;and as she had never thought or done anythingmortallyguilty herselfshe had not that abhorrence forwickednesswhich distinguishes moralists much moreknowing. If she spoiled everybody who came near herwithkindness and compliments--if she begged pardonof all herservants for troubling them to answer the bell--if sheapologized to a shopboy who showed her a pieceof silkor made a curtsey to a street-sweeper with acomplimentaryremark upon the elegant state of his crossing--and shewas almost capable of every one of thesefollies--thenotion that an old acquaintance was miserablewas sureto soften her heart; nor would she hear ofanybody'sbeing deservedly unhappy.  A world under suchlegislationas hers would not be a very orderly place ofabode; butthere are not many womenat least not of therulerswho are of her sort.  This ladyI believewouldhaveabolished all gaolspunishmentshandcuffswhippingspovertysicknesshungerin the worldand wassuch amean-spirited creature that--we are obliged toconfessit--she could even forget a mortal injury.

When theMajor heard from Jos of the sentimentaladventurewhich had just befallen the latterhe was notit must beownednearly as much interested as thegentlemanfrom Bengal.  On the contraryhis excitement wasquite thereverse from a pleasurable one; he made use ofa briefbut improper expression regarding a poor womanindistresssayingin fact"The little minxhas shecome tolight again?" He never had had the slightest likingfor herbut had heartily mistrusted her from the veryfirstmoment when her green eyes had looked atandturnedaway fromhis own.

"Thatlittle devil brings mischief wherever she goes"the Majorsaid disrespectfully.  "Who knows what sort oflife shehas been leading? And what business has shehereabroad and alone? Don't tell me about persecutorsandenemies; an honest woman always has friends andnever isseparated from her family.  Why has she left herhusband?He may have been disreputable and wickedasyou say. He always was.  I remember the confoundedblacklegand the way in which he used to cheat andhoodwinkpoor George.  Wasn't there a scandal about theirseparation?I think I heard something" cried out MajorDobbinwho did not care much about gossipand whomJos triedin vain to convince that Mrs. Becky was in allrespects amost injured and virtuous female.

"Wellwell; let's ask Mrs. George" said that arch-diplomatistof a Major.  "Only let us go and consult her.I supposeyou will allow that she is a good judge at anyrateandknows what is right in such matters."

"Hm! Emmy is very well" said Joswho did nothappen tobe in love with his sister.

"Verywell? By Gadsirshe's the finest lady I evermet in mylife" bounced out the Major.  "I say at oncelet us goand ask her if this woman ought to be visitedor not--Iwill be content with her verdict." Now thisodiousartful rogue of a Major was thinking in his ownmind thathe was sure of his case.  Emmyhe rememberedwas at onetime cruelly and deservedly jealous ofRebeccanever mentioned her name but with a shrinkingandterror--a jealous woman never forgivesthoughtDobbin: and so the pair went across the street to Mrs.George'shousewhere she was contentedly warbling ata musiclesson with Madame Strumpff.

When thatlady took her leaveJos opened the businesswith hisusual pomp of words.  "Ameliamy dear"said he"I have just had the most extraordinary--yes--God blessmy soul!  the most extraordinary adventure--an oldfriend--yesa most interesting old friend ofyoursandI may say in old timeshas just arrived hereand Ishould like you to see her."

"Her!"said Amelia"who is it? Major Dobbinif youplease notto break my scissors." The Major was twirlingthem roundby the little chain from which they sometimeshung totheir lady's waistand was thereby endangeringhis owneye. It is awoman whom I dislike very much" said theMajordoggedly"and whom you have no cause to love."

"Itis RebeccaI'm sure it is Rebecca" Amelia saidblushingand being very much agitated.

"Youare right; you always are" Dobbin answered.BrusselsWaterloooldold timesgriefspangsremembrancesrushed back into Amelia's gentleheart andcaused a cruel agitation there.

"Don'tlet me see her" Emmy continued.  "I couldn'tsee her."

"Itold you so" Dobbin said to Jos.

"Sheis very unhappyand--and that sort of thing"Josurged.  "She is very poor and unprotectedand hasbeenill--exceedingly ill--and that scoundrel of ahusbandhas deserted her."

"Ah!"said Amelia

"Shehasn't a friend in the world" Jos went onnotundexterously"and she said she thought she might trust inyou. She's so miserableEmmy.  She has been almost madwithgrief.  Her story quite affected me--'pon my wordandhonourit did--never was such a cruel persecutionborne soangelicallyI may say.  Her family has beenmost cruelto her."

"Poorcreature!" Amelia said.

"Andif she can get no friendshe says she thinks she'lldie"Jos proceeded in a low tremulous voice.  "God blessmy soul! do you know that she tried to kill herself? Shecarrieslaudanum with her--I saw the bottle in her room--such amiserable little room--at a third-rate housetheElephantup in the roof at the top of all.  I wentthere."

This didnot seem to affect Emmy.  She even smiled alittle. Perhaps she figured Jos to herself panting up thestair.

"She'sbeside herself with grief" he resumed.  "Theagoniesthat woman has endured are quite frightful tohear of. She had a little boyof the same age as Georgy."

"YesyesI think I remember" Emmy remarked."Well?"

"Themost beautiful child ever seen" Jos saidwhowas veryfatand easily movedand had been touched bythe storyBecky told; "a perfect angelwho adored hismother. The ruffians tore him shrieking out of her armsand havenever allowed him to see her."

"DearJoseph" Emmy cried outstarting up at once"letus go and see her this minute." And she ran into heradjoiningbedchambertied on her bonnet in a fluttercame outwith her shawl on her armand orderedDobbin tofollow.

He wentand put her shawl--it was a white cashmereconsignedto her by the Major himself from India--overhershoulders.  He saw there was nothing for it but toobeyandshe put her hand into his armand they wentaway.

"Itis number 92up four pair of stairs" Jos saidperhapsnot very willing to ascend the steps again; but heplacedhimself in the window of his drawing-roomwhichcommandsthe place on which the Elephant standsandsaw thepair marching through the market.

It was aswell that Becky saw them too from her garretfor sheand the two students were chattering and laughingthere;they had been joking about the appearance ofBecky'sgrandpapa--whose arrival and departure theyhadwitnessed--but she had time to dismiss themandhave herlittle room clear before the landlord of theElephantwho knew that Mrs. Osborne was a great favouriteat theSerene Courtand respected her accordinglyledthe way upthe stairs to the roof storyencouragingMiladi andthe Herr Major as they achieved the ascent.

"Graciousladygracious lady!" said the landlordknockingat Becky's door; he had called her Madame thedaybeforeand was by no means courteous to her.

"Whois it?" Becky saidputting out her headand shegave alittle scream.  There stood Emmy in a trembleandDobbinthe tall Majorwith his cane.

He stoodstill watchingand very much interested atthe scene;but Emmy sprang forward with open armstowardsRebeccaand forgave her at that momentandembracedher and kissed her with all her heart.  Ahpoorwretchwhen was your lip pressed before by such purekisses?

CHAPTERLXVIAmantiumIrae

Franknessand kindness like Amelia's were likely totouch evensuch a hardened little reprobate as Becky.  ShereturnedEmmy's caresses and kind speeches withsomethingvery like gratitudeand an emotion whichif it wasnotlastingfor a moment was almost genuine.  That wasa luckystroke of hers about the child "torn from herarmsshrieking." It was by that harrowing misfortunethat Beckyhad won her friend backand it was one of thevery firstpointswe may be certainupon which our poorsimplelittle Emmy began to talk to her new-foundacquaintance.

"Andso they took your darling child from you?" oursimpletoncried out.  "OhRebeccamy poor dear sufferingfriendIknow what it is to lose a boyand to feelfor thosewho have lost one.  But please Heaven yourswill berestored to youas a merciful merciful Providencehasbrought me back mine."

"Thechildmy child? Ohyesmy agonies were frightful"Beckyownednot perhaps without a twinge of conscience.It jarredupon her to be obliged to commenceinstantlyto tell lies in reply to so much confidence andsimplicity. But that is the misfortune of beginning withthis kindof forgery.  When one fib becomes due as itwereyoumust forge another to take up the oldacceptance;and so the stock of your lies in circulationinevitablymultipliesand the danger of detection increasesevery day.

"Myagonies" Becky continued"were terrible (I hopeshe won'tsit down on the bottle) when they took himaway fromme; I thought I should die; but I fortunatelyhad abrain feverduring which my doctor gave me upand--and Irecoveredand--and here I ampoor andfriendless."

"Howold is he?" Emmy asked.

"Eleven"said Becky.

"Eleven!"cried the other.  "Whyhe was born the sameyear withGeorgywho is--"

"IknowI know" Becky cried outwho had in factquiteforgotten all about little Rawdon's age.  "Grief hasmade meforget so many thingsdearest Amelia.  I amvery muchchanged:  half-wild sometimes.  He was elevenwhen theytook him away from me.  Bless his sweetface; Ihave never seen it again."

"Washe fair or dark?" went on that absurd littleEmmy. "Show me his hair."

Beckyalmost laughed at her simplicity.  "Not to-daylove--someother timewhen my trunks arrive fromLeipzigwhence I came to this place--and a little drawingof himwhich I made in happy days."

"PoorBeckypoor Becky!" said Emmy.  "How thankfulhowthankful I ought to be"; (though I doubt whetherthatpractice of piety inculcated upon us by ourwomankindin early youthnamelyto be thankful becausewe arebetter off than somebody elsebe a very rationalreligiousexercise) and then she began to thinkas usualhow herson was the handsomestthe bestand thecleverestboy in the whole world.

"Youwill see my Georgy" was the best thing Emmycouldthink of to console Becky.  If anything could makehercomfortable that would.

And so thetwo women continued talking for an houror moreduring which Becky had the opportunity ofgiving hernew friend a full and complete version of herprivatehistory.  She showed how her marriage withRawdonCrawley had always been viewed by the family withfeelingsof the utmost hostility; how her sister-in-law(an artfulwoman) had poisoned her husband's mindagainsther; how he had formed odious connectionswhich hadestranged his affections from her:  how she hadborneeverything--povertyneglectcoldness from thebeing whomshe most loved--and all for the sake of herchild;howfinallyand by the most flagrant outrageshehad beendriven into demanding a separation from herhusbandwhen the wretch did not scruple to ask that sheshouldsacrifice her own fair fame so that he mightprocureadvancement through the means of a very great andpowerfulbut unprincipled man--the Marquis of Steyneindeed. The atrocious monster!

This partof her eventful history Becky gave with theutmostfeminine delicacy and the most indignant virtue.Forced tofly her husband's roof by this insultthe cowardhadpursued his revenge by taking her child from her.And thusBecky said she was a wandererpoorunprotectedfriendlessand wretched.

Emmyreceived this storywhich was told at somelengthasthose persons who are acquainted with hercharactermay imagine that she would.  She quiveredwithindignation at the account of the conduct of themiserableRawdon and the unprincipled Steyne.  Her eyesmade notesof admiration for every one of the sentencesin whichBecky described the persecutions of heraristocraticrelatives and the falling away of her husband.(Becky didnot abuse him.  She spoke rather in sorrowthan inanger.  She had loved him only too fondly:  andwas he notthe father of her boy?) And as for the separationscene fromthe childwhile Becky was reciting itEmmyretired altogether behind her pocket-handkerchiefso thatthe consummate little tragedian must have beencharmed tosee the effect which her performanceproducedon her audience.

Whilst theladies were carrying on their conversationAmelia'sconstant escortthe Major (whoof coursedid notwish to interrupt their conferenceand foundhimselfrather tired of creaking about the narrow stairpassage ofwhich the roof brushed the nap from his hat)descendedto the ground-floor of the house and into thegreat roomcommon to all the frequenters of the Elephantout ofwhich the stair led.  This apartment is alwaysin a fumeof smoke and liberally sprinkled with beer.  Ona dirtytable stand scores of corresponding brasscandlestickswith tallow candles for the lodgerswhose keyshang up inrows.over the candles.  Emmy had passedblushingthrough the room anonwhere all sorts ofpeoplewere collected; Tyrolese glove-sellers and Danubianlinen-merchantswith their packs; students recruitingthemselveswith butterbrods and meat; idlersplayingcards ordominoes on the sloppybeery tables; tumblersrefreshingduring the cessation of their performances--in a wordall the fumum and strepitus of a German innin fairtime.  The waiter brought the Major a mug of beeras amatter of courseand he took out a cigar andamusedhimself with that pernicious vegetable and anewspaperuntil his charge should come down to claim him.

Max andFritz came presently downstairstheir caps onone sidetheir spurs jinglingtheir pipes splendid withcoats ofarms and full-blown tasselsand they hung up thekey ofNo.  90 on the board and called for the ration ofbutterbrodand beer.  The pair sat down by the Major andfell intoa conversation of which he could not help hearingsomewhat. It was mainly about "Fuchs" and "Philister"and duelsand drinking-bouts at the neighbouringUniversityof Schoppenhausenfrom which renownedseat oflearning they had just come in the EilwagenwithBeckyas it appearedby their sideand in orderto bepresent at the bridal fetes at Pumpernickel.

"Thetitle Englanderinn seems to be en bays degonnoisance"said Maxwho knew the French languageto Fritzhis comrade.  "After the fat grandfather wentawaythere came a pretty little compatriot.  I heard themchatteringand whimpering together in the little woman'schamber."

"Wemust take the tickets for her concert" Fritz said."Hastthou any moneyMax?"

"Bah"said the other"the concert is a concert innubibus. Hans said that she advertised one at LeipzigandtheBurschen took many tickets.  But she went off withoutsinging. She said in the coach yesterday that her pianisthad fallenill at Dresden.  She cannot singit is my belief:her voiceis as cracked as thineO thou beer-soakingRenowner!"

"Itis cracked; I hear her trying out of her window aschrecklich. English balladcalled 'De Rose upon deBalgony.'"

"Saufenand singen go not together" observed Fritzwith thered nosewho evidently preferred the formeramusement. "Nothou shalt take none of her tickets.She wonmoney at the trente and quarante last night.  Isaw her: she made a little English boy play for her.  Wewill spendthy money there or at the theatreor we willtreat herto French wine or Cognac in the AureliusGardenbut the tickets we will not buy.  What sayestthou? Yetanother mug of beer?" and one and anothersuccessivelyhaving buried their blond whiskers in themawkishdraughtcurled them and swaggered off intothe fair.

The Majorwho had seen the key of No.  90 put upon itshook and had heard the conversation of the twoyoungUniversity bloodswas not at a loss tounderstandthat their talk related to Becky.  "The little devilis at herold tricks" he thoughtand he smiled as herecalledold dayswhen he had witnessed the desperateflirtationwith Jos and the ludicrous end of that adventure.He andGeorge had often laughed over it subsequentlyand untila few weeks after George's marriagewhen healso was caught in the little Circe's toilsandhad anunderstanding with her which his comradecertainlysuspectedbut preferred to ignore.  William wastoo muchhurt or ashamed to ask to fathom thatdisgracefulmysteryalthough onceand evidently withremorse onhis mindGeorge had alluded to it.  It was onthemorning of Waterlooas the young men stoodtogetherin front of their linesurveying the black masses ofFrenchmenwho crowned the opposite heightsand as therain wascoming down"I have been mixing in a foolishintriguewith a woman" George said.  "I am glad we weremarchedaway.  If I dropI hope Emmy will never knowof thatbusiness.  I wish to God it had never beenbegun!"And William was pleased to thinkand had morethan oncesoothed poor George's widow with thenarrativethat Osborneafter quitting his wifeand afterthe actionof Quatre Brason the first dayspoke gravelyandaffectionately to his comrade of his father and hiswife. On these factstooWilliam had insisted verystronglyin his conversations with the elder Osborneand hadthus been the means of reconciling the oldgentlemanto his son's memoryjust at the close of theelderman's life.

"Andso this devil is still going on with her intrigues"thoughtWilliam.  "I wish she were a hundred miles fromhere. She brings mischief wherever she goes." And hewaspursuing these forebodings and this uncomfortabletrain ofthoughtwith his head between his handsandthePumpernickel Gazette of last week unread under hisnosewhensomebody tapped his shoulder with a parasoland helooked up and saw Mrs. Amelia.

This womanhad a way of tyrannizing over MajorDobbin(for the weakest of all people will domineeroversomebody)and she ordered him aboutand pattedhimandmade him fetch and carry just as if he was agreatNewfoundland dog.  He likedso to speakto jumpinto thewater if she said "HighDobbin!" and to trotbehind herwith her reticule in his mouth.  This historyhas beenwritten to very little purpose if the reader hasnotperceived that the Major was a spooney.

"Whydid you not wait for mesirto escort medownstairs?"she saidgiving a little toss of her headand a mostsarcastic curtsey.

"Icouldn't stand up in the passage" he answered witha comicaldeprecatory look; anddelighted to give her hisarm and totake her out of the horrid smoky placehewould havewalked off without even so much asrememberingthe waiterhad not the young fellow run afterhim andstopped him on the threshold of the Elephantto makehim pay for the beer which he had notconsumed. Emmy laughed:  she called him a naughty manwho wantedto run away in debtandin factmadesome jokessuitable to the occasion and the small-beer.She was inhigh spirits and good humourand trippedacross themarket-place very briskly.  She wanted to seeJos thatinstant.  The Major laughed at the impetuousaffectionMrs. Amelia exhibited; forin truthit was notvery oftenthat she wanted her brother "that instant."

They foundthe civilian in his saloon on the first-floor;he hadbeen pacing the roomand biting his nailsandlookingover the market-place towards the Elephant ahundredtimes at least during the past hour whilst Emmywascloseted with her friend in the garret and the Majorwasbeating the tattoo on the sloppy tables of the publicroombelowand he wason his side toovery anxious tosee Mrs.Osborne.

"Well?"said he.

"Thepoor dear creaturehow she has suffered!"Emmy said.

"Godbless my soulyes" Jos saidwagging his headso thathis cheeks quivered like jellies.

"Shemay have Payne's roomwho can go upstairs"Emmycontinued.  Payne was a staid English maid andpersonalattendant upon Mrs. Osborneto whom thecourieras in duty boundpaid courtand whom Georgyused to"lark" dreadfully with accounts of Germanrobbersand ghosts.  She passed her time chiefly in grumblinginordering about her mistressand in stating her intentionto returnthe next morning to her native village ofClapham. "She may have Payne's room" Emmy said.

"Whyyou don't mean to say you are going to havethat womaninto the house?" bounced out the Majorjumpingup. "Ofcourse we are" said Amelia in the most innocentway in theworld.  "Don't be angry and break thefurnitureMajor Dobbin.  Of course we are going to have herhere." "Ofcoursemy dear" Jos said.

"Thepoor creatureafter all her sufferings" Emmycontinued;"her horrid banker broken and run away; herhusband--wickedwretch--having deserted her and takenher childaway from her" (here she doubled her twolittlefists and held them in a most menacing attitudebeforeherso that the Major was charmed to seesuch adauntless virago) "the poor dear thing!  quite aloneandabsolutely forced to give lessons in singing to get herbread--andnot have her here!"

"Takelessonsmy dear Mrs. George" cried the Major"butdon't have her in the house.  I implore you don't."

"Pooh"said Jos.

"Youwho are always good and kind--always used tobe at anyrate--I'm astonished at youMajor William"Ameliacried.  "Whywhat is the moment to help her butwhen sheis so miserable? Now is the time to be ofservice toher.  The oldest friend I ever hadand not--"

"Shewas not always your friendAmelia" the Majorsaidforhe was quite angry.  This allusion was too muchfor Emmywholooking the Major almost fiercely in thefacesaid"For shameMajor Dobbin!" and after havingfired thisshotshe walked out of the room with a mostmajesticair and shut her own door briskly on herselfand heroutraged dignity.

"Toallude to THAT!" she saidwhen the door wasclosed. "Ohit was cruel of him to remind me of it" andshe lookedup at George's picturewhich hung there asusualwith the portrait of the boy underneath.  "It wascruel ofhim.  If I had forgiven itought he to havespoken?No.  And it is from his own lips that I know howwicked andgroundless my jealousy was; and that youwerepure--ohyesyou were puremy saint inheaven!"

She pacedthe roomtrembling and indignant.  She wentand leanedon the chest of drawers over which the picturehungandgazed and gazed at it.  Its eyes seemed to lookdown onher with a reproach that deepened as she looked.The earlydeardear memories of that brief prime of loverushedback upon her.  The wound which years hadscarcelycicatrized bled afreshand ohhow bitterly!  Shecould notbear the reproaches of the husband therebeforeher.  It couldn't be.  Nevernever.

PoorDobbin; poor old William!  That unlucky wordhad undonethe work of many a year--the long laboriousedifice ofa life of love and constancy--raised too uponwhatsecret and hidden foundationswherein lay buriedpassionsuncounted strugglesunknown sacrifices--alittleword was spokenand down fell the fair palace ofhope--onewordand away flew the bird which he hadbeentrying all his life to lure!

Williamthough he saw by Amelia's looks that a greatcrisis hadcomenevertheless continued to implore Sedleyin themost energetic termsto beware of Rebecca; and heeagerlyalmost franticallyadjured Jos not to receiveher. He besought Mr. Sedley to inquire at least regardingher; toldhim how he had heard that she was in thecompany ofgamblers and people of ill repute; pointedout whatevil she had done in former dayshow sheandCrawley had misled poor George into ruinhow shewas nowparted from her husbandby her own confessionandperhapsfor good reason.  What a dangerouscompanionshe would be for his sisterwho knew nothingof theaffairs of the world!  William implored Joswithall theeloquence which he could bring to bearand agreat dealmore energy than this quiet gentleman wasordinarilyin the habit of showingto keep Rebecca outof hishousehold.

Had hebeen less violentor more dexteroushe mighthavesucceeded in his supplications to Jos; but the civilianwas not alittle jealous of the airs of superioritywhich theMajor constantly exhibited towards himashe fancied(indeedhe had imparted his opinions to Mr.Kirschthe courierwhose bills Major Dobbin checked onthisjourneyand who sided with his master)and hebegan ablustering speech about his competency todefend hisown honourhis desire not to have his affairsmeddledwithhis intentionin fineto rebel against theMajorwhen the colloquy--rather a long and stormy one--was putan end to in the simplest way possiblenamelyby thearrival of Mrs. Beckywith a porter fromtheElephant Hotel in charge of her very meagre baggage.

Shegreeted her host with affectionate respect andmade ashrinkingbut amicable salutation to MajorDobbinwhoas her instinct assured her at oncewasher enemyand had been speaking against her; and thebustle andclatter consequent upon her arrival broughtAmelia outof her room.  Emmy went up and embracedher guestwith the greatest warmthand took no noticeof theMajorexcept to fling him an angry look--themostunjust and scornful glance that had perhaps everappearedin that poor little woman's face since she wasborn. But she had private reasons of her ownand wasbent uponbeing angry with him.  And Dobbinindignantat theinjusticenot at the defeatwent offmaking her abow quiteas haughty as the killing curtsey with whichthe littlewoman chose to bid him farewell.

He beinggoneEmmy was particularly lively andaffectionateto Rebeccaand bustled about the apartmentsandinstalled her guest in her room with an eagerness andactivityseldom exhibited by our placid little friend.  Butwhen anact of injustice is to be doneespecially byweakpeopleit is best that it should be done quicklyand Emmythought she was displaying a great deal offirmnessand proper feeling and veneration for the lateCaptainOsborne in her present behaviour.

Georgycame in from the fetes for dinner-time andfound fourcovers laid as usual; but one of the placeswasoccupied by a ladyinstead of by Major Dobbin."Hullo! where's Dob?" the young gentleman asked withhis usualsimplicity of language.  "Major Dobbin is diningoutIsuppose" his mother saidanddrawing the boyto herkissed him a great dealand put his hair off hisforeheadand introduced him to Mrs. Crawley.  "Thisis my boyRebecca" Mrs. Osborne said--as much as tosay--canthe world produce anything like that? Beckylooked athim with rapture and pressed his hand fondly."Dearboy!" she said--"he is just like my--" Emotionchoked herfurther utterancebut Amelia understoodaswell as ifshe had spokenthat Becky was thinking of herownblessed child.  Howeverthe company of her friendconsoledMrs. Crawleyand she ate a very good dinner.

During therepastshe had occasion to speak severaltimeswhen Georgy eyed her and listened to her.  At thedesertEmmy was gone out to superintend furtherdomesticarrangements; Jos was in his great chair dozingoverGalignani; Georgy and the new arrival sat close toeachother--he had continued to look at her knowinglymore thanonceand at last he laid down thenutcrackers.

"Isay" said Georgy.

"Whatdo you say?" Becky saidlaughing.

"You'rethe lady I saw in the mask at the Rouge etNoir."

"Hush! you little sly creature" Becky saidtakingup hishand and kissing it.  "Your uncle was there tooand Mammamustn't know."

"Ohno--not by no means" answered the little fellow.

"Yousee we are quite good friends already" Beckysaid toEmmywho now re-entered; and it must be ownedthat Mrs.Osborne had introduced a most judicious andamiablecompanion into her house.

Williamin a state of great indignationthough stillunaware ofall the treason that was in store for himwalkedabout thetown wildly until he fell upon the Secretary ofLegationTapewormwho invited him to dinner.  As theywerediscussing that mealhe took occasion to ask theSecretarywhether he knew anything about a certainMrs.Rawdon Crawleywho hadhe believedmadesome noisein London; and then Tapewormwho ofcourseknew all the London gossipand was besides arelativeof Lady Gauntpoured out into the astonishedMajor'sears such a history about Becky and her husbandasastonished the queristand supplied all the points ofthisnarrativefor it was at that very table years agothat thepresent writer had the pleasure of hearing thetale. TuftoSteynethe Crawleysand their history--everythingconnected with Becky and her previous lifepassedunder the record of the bitter diplomatist.  He kneweverythingand a great deal besidesabout all the world--in awordhe made the most astounding revelations tothesimple-hearted Major.  When Dobbin said that Mrs.Osborneand Mr. Sedley had taken her into their houseTapewormburst into a peal of laughter which shockedthe Majorand asked if they had not better send into theprison andtake in one or two of the gentlemen in shavedheads andyellow jackets who swept the streets ofPumpernickelchained in pairsto board and lodgeand actas tutorto that little scapegrace Georgy.

Thisinformation astonished and horrified the Major nota little. It had been agreed in the morning (before meetingwithRebecca) that Amelia should go to the Courtball thatnight.  There would be the place where he shouldtell her. The Major went homeand dressed himself in hisuniformand repaired to Courtin hopes to see Mrs.Osborne. She never came.  When he returned to hislodgingsall the lights in the Sedley tenement were putout. He could not see her till the morning.  I don't knowwhat sortof a night's rest he had with this frightfulsecret inbed with him.

At theearliest convenient hour in the morning he senthisservant across the way with a notesaying that hewishedvery particularly to speak with her.  A messagecame backto say that Mrs. Osborne was exceedinglyunwell andwas keeping her room.

Shetoohad been awake all that night.  She had beenthinkingof a thing which had agitated her mind ahundredtimes before.  A hundred times on the point of yieldingshe hadshrunk back from a sacrifice which she feltwas toomuch for her.  She couldn'tin spite of his loveandconstancy and her own acknowledged regardrespectand gratitude.  What are benefitswhat isconstancyor merit? One curl of a girl's ringletone hair of awhiskerwill turn the scale against them all in a minute.They didnot weigh with Emmy more than with otherwomen. She had tried them; wanted to make them pass;could not;and the pitiless little woman had found apretextand determined to be free.

When atlengthin the afternoonthe Major gainedadmissionto Ameliainstead of the cordial andaffectionategreetingto which he had been accustomed nowfor many along dayhe received the salutation of acurtseyand of a little gloved handretracted the momentafter itwas accorded to him.

Rebeccatoowas in the roomand advanced to meethim with asmile and an extended hand.  Dobbin drewbackrather confusedly"I--I beg your pardonm'am"he said;"but I am bound to tell you that it is not as yourfriendthat I am come here now."

"Pooh! damn; don't let us have this sort of thing!"Jos criedoutalarmedand anxious to get rid of a scene.

"Iwonder what Major Dobbin has to say againstRebecca?"Amelia said in a lowclear voice with a slightquiver initand a very determined look about the eyes.

"Iwill not have this sort of thing in my house" Josagaininterposed.  "I say I will not have it; and DobbinIbegsiryou'll stop it." And he looked roundtremblingandturning very redand gave a great puffandmade forhis door.

"Dearfriend!" Rebecca said with angelic sweetness"dohear what Major Dobbin has to say against me."

"Iwill not hear itI say" squeaked out Jos at thetop of hisvoiceandgathering up his dressing-gownhewas gone.

"Weare only two women" Amelia said.  "You canspeak nowsir."

"Thismanner towards me is one which scarcelybecomesyouAmelia" the Major answered haughtily; "norI believeam I guilty of habitual harshness to women.  Itis not apleasure to me to do the duty which I am cometo do."

"Prayproceed with it quicklyif you pleaseMajorDobbin"said Ameliawho was more and more in a pet.  Theexpressionof Dobbin's faceas she spoke in thisimperiousmannerwas not pleasant.

"Icame to say--and as you stayMrs. CrawleyI mustsay it inyour presence--that I think you--you oughtnot toform a member of the family of my friends.  Alady whois separated from her husbandwho travels notunder herown namewho frequents public gaming-tables--"

"Itwas to the ball I went" cried out Becky.

"--isnot a fit companion for Mrs. Osborne and herson"Dobbin went on:  "and I may add that there arepeoplehere who know youand who profess to knowthatregarding your conduct about which I don't evenwish tospeak before--before Mrs. Osborne."

"Yoursis a very modest and convenient sort of calumnyMajorDobbin" Rebecca said.  "You leave me underthe weightof an accusation whichafter allis unsaid.What isit? Is it unfaithfulness to my husband? I scorn itand defyanybody to prove it--I defy youI say.  Myhonour isas untouched as that of the bitterest enemywho evermaligned me.  Is it of being poorforsakenwretchedthat you accuse me? YesI am guilty of thosefaultsand punished for them every day.  Let me goEmmy. It is only to suppose that I have not met youand I amno worse to-day than I was yesterday.  It isonly tosuppose that the night is over and the poorwandereris on her way.  Don't you remember the songwe used tosing in olddear old days? I have beenwanderingever since then--a poor castawayscorned forbeingmiserableand insulted because I am alone.  Let mego: my stay here interferes with the plans of thisgentleman."

"Indeedit doesmadam" said the Major.  "If I haveanyauthority in this house--"

"Authoritynone!" broke out Amelia "Rebeccayou staywith me.  I won't desert you because you havebeenpersecutedor insult you because--because MajorDobbinchooses to do so.  Come awaydear." And thetwo womenmade towards the door.

Williamopened it.  As they were going outhoweverhetookAmelia's hand and said--"Will you stay a momentand speakto me?"

"Hewishes to speak to you away from me" saidBeckylooking like a martyr.  Amelia gripped her hand inreply.

"Uponmy honour it is not about you that I am goingto speak"Dobbin said.  "Come backAmelia" and shecame. Dobbin bowed to Mrs. Crawleyas he shut thedoor uponher.  Amelia looked at himleaning against theglass: her face and her lips were quite white.

"Iwas confused when I spoke just now" the Majorsaid aftera pause"and I misused the word authority."

"Youdid" said Amelia with her teeth chattering.

"Atleast I have claims to be heard" Dobbincontinued.

"Itis generous to remind me of our obligations to you"the womananswered.

"Theclaims I mean are those left me by George'sfather"William said.

"Yesand you insulted his memory.  You did yesterday.You knowyou did.  And I will never forgive you.  Never!"saidAmelia.  She shot out each little sentence in a tremorof angerand emotion.

"Youdon't mean thatAmelia?" William said sadly."Youdon't mean that these wordsuttered in a hurriedmomentare to weigh against a whole life's devotion? Ithink thatGeorge's memory has not been injured by theway inwhich I have dealt with itand if we are come tobandyingreproachesI at least merit none from hiswidow andthe mother of his son.  Reflectafterwards when--when youare at leisureand your conscience willwithdrawthis accusation.  It does even now." Amelia helddown herhead.

"Itis not that speech of yesterday" he continued"whichmoves you.  That is but the pretextAmeliaor Ihave lovedyou and watched you for fifteen years in vain.Have I notlearned in that time to read all your feelingsand lookinto your thoughts? I know what your heartis capableof:  it can cling faithfully to a recollection andcherish afancybut it can't feel such an attachment asminedeserves to mate withand such as I would havewon from awoman more generous than you.  Noyouare notworthy of the love which I have devoted to you.I knew allalong that the prize I had set my life on wasnot worththe winning; that I was a foolwith fondfanciestoobartering away my all of truth and ardouragainstyour little feeble remnant of love.  I will bargainno more: I withdraw.  I find no fault with you.  You areverygood-naturedand have done your bestbut youcouldn't--youcouldn't reach up to the height of theattachmentwhich I bore youand which a loftier soul thanyoursmight have been proud to share.  Good-byeAmelia!I havewatched your struggle.  Let it end.  We are bothweary ofit."

Ameliastood scared and silent as William thussuddenlybroke the chain by which she held him anddeclaredhis independence and superiority.  He had placedhimself ather feet so long that the poor little womanhad beenaccustomed to trample upon him.  She didn'twish tomarry himbut she wished to keep him.  Shewished togive him nothingbut that he should give herall. It is a bargain not unfrequently levied in love.

William'ssally had quite broken and cast her down.HERassault was long since over and beaten back.

"Am Ito understand thenthat you are going--awayWilliam?"she said.

He gave asad laugh.  "I went once before" he said"andcame back after twelve years.  We were young thenAmelia. Good-bye.  I have spent enough of my life at thisplay."

Whilstthey had been talkingthe door into Mrs. Osborne'sroom hadopened ever so little; indeedBeckyhad kept ahold of the handle and had turned it on theinstantwhen Dobbin quitted itand she heard every wordof theconversation that had passed between these two."Whata noble heart that man has" she thoughtandhowshamefully that woman plays with it!" She admiredDobbin;she bore him no rancour for the part he hadtakenagainst her.  It was an open move in the gameand playedfairly.  "Ah!" she thought"if I could have hadsuch ahusband as that--a man with a heart and brainstoo! I would not have minded his large feet"; and runninginto herroomshe absolutely bethought herself ofsomethingand wrote him a notebeseeching him to stop for afewdays--not to think of going--and that she couldserve himwith A.

Theparting was over.  Once more poor William walkedto thedoor and was gone; and the little widowtheauthor ofall this workhad her willand had won hervictoryand was left to enjoy it as she best might.  Letthe ladiesenvy her triumph.

At theromantic hour of dinnerMr. Georgy made hisappearanceand again remarked the absence of "OldDob."The meal was eaten in silence by the party.  Jos'sappetitenot being diminishedbut Emmy takingnothing atall.

After themealGeorgy was lolling in the cushions ofthe oldwindowa large windowwith three sides of glassabuttingfrom the gableand commanding on one sidethemarket-placewhere the Elephant ishis mother beingbusy hardbywhen he remarked symptoms ofmovementat the Major's house on the other side of the street.

"Hullo!"said he"there's Dob's trap--they are bringingit out ofthe court-yard." The "trap" in questionwas acarriage which the Major had bought for six poundssterlingand about which they used to rally him a gooddeal.

Emmy gavea little startbut said nothing.

"Hullo!"Georgy continued"there's Francis coming outwith theportmanteausand Kunzthe one-eyedpostilioncoming down the market with three schimmels.Look athis boots and yellow jacket--ain't he a rumone?Why--they're putting the horses to Dob's carriage.Is hegoing anywhere?"

"Yes"said Emmy"he is going on a journey."

"Goingon a journey; and when is he coming back?"

"Heis--not coming back" answered Emmy.

"Notcoming back!" cried out Georgyjumping up."Stayheresir" roared out Jos.  "StayGeorgy" saidhismotherwith a very sad face.  The boy stoppedkickedabout theroomjumped up and down from the window-seat withhis kneesand showed every symptom ofuneasinessand curiosity.

The horseswere put to.  The baggage was strappedon. Francis came out with his master's swordcaneandumbrella tied up togetherand laid them in thewellandhis desk and old tin cocked-hat casewhichhe placedunder the seat.  Francis brought out thestainedold blue cloak lined with red camletwhich hadwrappedthe owner up any time these fifteen yearsandhadmanchen Sturm erlebtas a favourite song of thosedayssaid.  It had been new for the campaign of Waterlooand hadcovered George and William after the nightof QuatreBras.

OldBurckethe landlord of the lodgingscame outthenFranciswith more packages--final packages--thenMajorWilliam--Burcke wanted to kiss him.  The Majorwas adoredby all people with whom he had to do.  Itwas withdifficulty he could escape from thisdemonstrationof attachment.

"ByJoveI will go!" screamed out George.  "Give himthis"said Beckyquite interestedand put a paper intothe boy'shand.  He had rushed down the stairs and flungacross thestreet in a minute--the yellow postilion wascrackinghis whip gently.

Williamhad got into the carriagereleased from theembracesof his landlord.  George bounded in afterwardsand flunghis arms round the Major's neck (as they sawfrom thewindow)and began asking him multipliedquestions. Then he felt in his waistcoat pocket and gave hima note. William seized at it rather eagerlyhe opened ittremblingbut instantly his countenance changedandhe torethe paper in two and dropped it out of thecarriage. He kissed Georgy on the headand the boy gotoutdoubling his fists into his eyesand with the aid ofFrancis. He lingered with his hand on the panel.  FortSchwager! The yellow postilion cracked his whipprodigiouslyup sprang Francis to the boxaway went theschimmelsand Dobbin with his head on his breast.  Heneverlooked up as they passed under Amelia's windowandGeorgyleft alone in the streetburst out cryingin theface of all the crowd.

Emmy'smaid heard him howling again during thenight andbrought him some preserved apricots toconsolehim.  She mingled her lamentations with his.  All thepoorallthe humbleall honest folksall good men whoknew himloved that kind-hearted and simple gentleman.

As forEmmyhad she not done her duty? She had herpicture ofGeorge for a consolation.

CHAPTERLXVIIWhichContains BirthsMarriagesand Deaths

WhateverBecky's private plan might be by whichDobbin'strue love was to be crowned with successthelittlewoman thought that the secret might keepandindeedbeing by no means so much interested aboutanybody'swelfare as about her ownshe had a greatnumber ofthings pertaining to herself to considerandwhichconcerned her a great deal more than MajorDobbin'shappiness in this life.

She foundherself suddenly and unexpectedly in snugcomfortablequarterssurrounded by friendskindnessandgood-natured simple people such as she had not metwith formany a long day; andwanderer as she was byforce andinclinationthere were moments when restwaspleasant to her.  As the most hardened Arab thatevercareered across the desert over the hump of adromedarylikes to repose sometimes under the date-trees bythe wateror to come into the citieswalk intothebazaarsrefresh himself in the bathsand say hisprayers inthe mosquesbefore he goes out againmaraudingso Jos's tents and pilau were pleasant to thislittleIshmaelite.  She picketed her steedhung up herweaponsand warmed herself comfortably by his fire.  Thehalt inthat rovingrestless life was inexpressibly soothingandpleasant to her.

Sopleased herselfshe tried with all her might topleaseeverybody; and we know that she was eminentandsuccessful as a practitioner in the art of givingpleasure. As for Joseven in that little interview in thegarret atthe Elephant Innshe had found means to winback agreat deal of his good-will.  In the course of aweekthecivilian was her sworn slave and franticadmirer. He didn't go to sleep after dinneras hiscustom wasin the much less lively society of Amelia.  Hedrove outwith Becky in his open carriage.  He asked littlepartiesand invented festivities to do her honour.

Tapewormthe Charge d'Affaireswho had abused hersocruellycame to dine with Josand then came everyday to payhis respects to Becky.  Poor Emmywho wasnever verytalkativeand more glum and silent than everafterDobbin's departurewas quite forgotten when thissuperiorgenius made her appearance.  The FrenchMinisterwas as much charmed with her as his English rival.The Germanladiesnever particularly squeamish asregardsmoralsespecially in English peoplewere delightedwith thecleverness and wit of Mrs. Osborne's charmingfriendand though she did not ask to go to Courtyet themost august and Transparent Personages thereheard ofher fascinations and were quite curious to knowher. When it became known that she was nobleof anancientEnglish familythat her husband was a Colonelof theGuardExcellenz and Governor of an islandonlyseparatedfrom his lady by one of those trifling differenceswhich areof little account in a country whereWerther isstill read and the Wahlverwandtschaften ofGoethe isconsidered an edifying moral booknobodythought ofrefusing to receive her in the very highestsociety ofthe little Duchy; and the ladies were even moreready tocall her du and to swear eternal friendship forher thanthey had been to bestow the same inestimablebenefitsupon Amelia.  Love and Liberty are interpretedby thosesimple Germans in a way which honest folks inYorkshireand Somersetshire little understandand a ladymightinsome philosophic and civilized townsbedivorcedever so many times from her respective husbandsand keepher character in society.  Jos's house never wassopleasant since he had a house of his own as Rebeccacaused itto be.  She sangshe playedshe laughedshetalked intwo or three languagesshe brought everybodyto thehouseand she made Jos believe that it was hisown greatsocial talents and wit which gathered thesociety ofthe place round about him.

As forEmmywho found herself not in the leastmistressof her own houseexcept when the bills wereto bepaidBecky soon discovered the way to soothe andpleaseher.  She talked to her perpetually about MajorDobbinsent about his businessand made no scrupleofdeclaring her admiration for that excellenthigh-mindedgentlemanand of telling Emmy that she hadbehavedmost cruelly regarding him.  Emmy defended herconductand showed that it was dictated only by thepurestreligious principles; that a woman once&c.and tosuch anangel as him whom she had had the goodfortune tomarrywas married forever; but she had noobjectionto hear the Major praised as much as everBeckychose to praise himand indeedbrought theconversationround to the Dobbin subject a score of timesevery day.

Means wereeasily found to win the favour of Georgyand theservants.  Amelia's maidit has been saidwasheart andsoul in favour of the generous Major.  Having atfirstdisliked Becky for being the means of dismissinghim fromthe presence of her mistressshe was reconciledto Mrs.Crawley subsequentlybecause the latterbecameWilliam's most ardent admirer and champion.  Andin thosenightly conclaves in which the two ladiesindulgedafter their partiesand while Miss Payne was"brushingtheir 'airs" as she called the yellow locks ofthe oneand the soft brown tresses of the otherthisgirlalways put in her word for that dear good gentlemanMajorDobbin.  Her advocacy did not make Ameliaangry anymore than Rebecca's admiration of him.  ShemadeGeorge write to him constantly and persisted insendingMamma's kind love in a postscript.  And as shelooked ather husband's portrait of nightsit no longerreproachedher--perhaps she reproached itnowWilliamwas gone.

Emmy wasnot very happy after her heroic sacrifice.She wasvery distraitenervoussilentand ill to please.The familyhad never known her so peevish.  She grewpale andill.  She used to try to sing certain songs("Einsambin ich nicht alleine" was one of themthat tenderlove-songof Weber's which~ in old-fashioned daysyoungladiesand when you were scarcely bornshowedthat thosewho lived before you knew too how to loveand tosing) certain songsI sayto which the Majorwaspartial; and as she warbled them in the twilight in thedrawing-roomshe would break off in the midst of thesongandwalk into her neighbouring apartmentandtherenodoubttake refuge in the miniature of herhusband.

Some booksstill subsistedafter Dobbin's departurewith hisname written in them; a German dictionaryforinstancewith "William Dobbin--th Reg." in the fly-leaf;aguide-book with his initials; and one or two othervolumeswhich belonged to the Major.  Emmy cleared theseaway andput them on the drawerswhere she placed herwork-boxher deskher Bibleand prayer-bookunderthepictures of the two Georges.  And the Majoron goingawayhaving left his gloves behind himit is a fact thatGeorgyrummaging his mother's desk some timeafterwardsfound the gloves neatly folded up and put away inwhat theycall the secret-drawers of the desk.

Not caringfor societyand moping there a great dealEmmy'schief pleasure in the summer evenings was totake longwalks with Georgy (during which Rebeccawas leftto the society of Mr. Joseph)and then themother andson used to talk about the Major in a waywhich evenmade the boy smile.  She told him that shethoughtMajor William was the best man in all the world--thegentlest and the kindestthe bravest and thehumblest. Over and over again she told him how they owedeverythingwhich they possessed in the world to thatkindfriend's benevolent care of them; how he hadbefriendedthem all through their poverty and misfortunes;watchedover them when nobody cared for them; how allhiscomrades admired him though he never spoke of hisowngallant actions; how Georgy's father trusted himbeyond allother menand had been constantly befriendedby thegood William.  "Whywhen your papa was a littleboy"she said"he often told me that it was Williamwhodefended him against a tyrant at the school wherethey were;and their friendship never ceased from thatday untilthe lastwhen your dear father fell."

"DidDobbin kill the man who killed Papa?" Georgysaid. "I'm sure he didor he would if he could havecaughthimwouldn't heMother? When I'm in the Armywon't Ihate the French?--that's all."

In suchcolloquies the mother and the child passed agreat dealof their time together.  The artless woman hadmade aconfidant of the boy.  He was as much William'sfriend aseverybody else who knew him well.

By thewayMrs. Beckynot to be behind hand insentimenthad got a miniature too hanging up in herroomtothe surprise and amusement of most peopleand thedelight of the originalwho was no other thanour friendJos.  On her first coming to favour the Sedleyswith avisitthe little womanwho had arrived with aremarkablysmall shabby kitwas perhaps ashamed of themeannessof her trunks and bandboxesand often spokewith greatrespect about her baggage left behind atLeipzigwhich she must have from that city.  When a travellertalks toyou perpetually about the splendour of hisluggagewhich he does not happen to have with himmysonbeware of that traveller!  He isten to oneanimpostor.

NeitherJos nor Emmy knew this important maxim.  Itseemed tothem of no consequence whether Becky had aquantityof very fine clothes in invisible trunks; butas herpresent supply was exceedingly shabbyEmmysuppliedher out of her own storesor took her to thebestmilliner in the town and there fitted her out.  It wasno moretorn collars nowI promise youand faded silkstrailingoff at the shoulder.  Becky changed her habitswith hersituation in life--the rouge-pot was suspended--anotherexcitement to which she had accustomedherselfwas also put asideor at least only indulged in inprivacyas when she was prevailed on by Jos of asummereveningEmmy and the boy being absent on theirwalkstotake a little spirit-and-water.  But if she did notindulge--thecourier did:  that rascal Kirsch could notbe keptfrom the bottlenor could he tell how muchhe tookwhen he applied to it.  He was sometimessurprisedhimself at the way in which Mr. Sedley's Cognacdiminished. Wellwellthis is a painful subject.  Beckydid notvery likely indulge so much as she used beforesheentered a decorous family.

At lastthe much-bragged-about boxes arrived fromLeipzig;three of them not by any means large or splendid;nor didBecky appear to take out any sort of dressesorornaments from the boxes when they did arrive.  Butout ofonewhich contained a mass of her papers (itwas thatvery box which Rawdon Crawley hadransackedin his furious hunt for Becky's concealed money)she took apicture with great gleewhich she pinned upin herroomand to which she introduced Jos.  It wastheportrait of a gentleman in pencilhis face having theadvantageof being painted up in pink.  He was ridingon anelephant away from some cocoa-nut trees and apagoda: it was an Eastern scene.

"Godbless my soulit is my portrait" Jos cried out.It was heindeedblooming in youth and beautyin anankeenjacket of the cut of 1804.  It was the old picturethat usedto hang up in Russell Square.

"Ibought it" said Becky in a voice trembling withemotion;"I went to see if I could be of any use to my kindfriends. I have never parted with that picture--I neverwill."

"Won'tyou?" Jos cried with a look of unutterableraptureand satisfaction.  "Did you really now value itfor mysake?"

"Youknow I didwell enough" said Becky; "butwhyspeak--why think--why look back!  It is too latenow!"

Thatevening's conversation was delicious for Jos.Emmy onlycame in to go to bed very tired and unwell.Jos andhis fair guest had a charming tete-a-teteandhis sistercould hearas she lay awake in her adjoiningchamberRebecca singing over to Jos the old songs of1815. He did not sleepfor a wonderthat nightanymore thanAmelia.

It wasJuneandby consequencehigh season inLondon;Joswho read the incomparable Galignani (theexile'sbest friend) through every dayused to favour theladieswith extracts from his paper during theirbreakfast. Every week in this paper there is a full account ofmilitarymovementsin which Josas a man who hadseenservicewas especially interested.  On one occasionhe readout--"Arrival of the --th regiment.  GravesendJune20.--The RamchunderEast Indiamancame into theriver thismorninghaving on board 14 officersand 132rank andfile of this gallant corps.  They have beenabsentfrom England fourteen yearshaving been embarkedthe yearafter Waterlooin which glorious conflict theytook anactive partand having subsequently distinguishedthemselvesin the Burmese war.  The veteran colonelSirMichaelO'DowdK.C.B.with his lady and sisterlandedhereyesterdaywith Captains PoskyStubbleMacrawMalony;Lieutenants SmithJonesThompsonF.  Thomson;EnsignsHicks and Grady; the band on the pierplayingthe national anthemand the crowd loudly cheeringthegallant veterans as they went into Wayte's hotelwhere asumptuous banquet was provided for the defendersof OldEngland.  During the repastwhich we need notsay wasserved up in Wayte's best stylethe cheeringcontinuedso enthusiastically that Lady O'Dowd and theColonelcame forward to the balcony and drank thehealths oftheir fellow-countrymen in a bumper of Wayte'sbestclaret."

On asecond occasion Jos read a brief announcement--MajorDobbin had joined the --th regiment at Chatham;andsubsequently he promulgated accounts of thepresentationsat the Drawing-room of Colonel SirMichaelO'DowdK.C.B.Lady O'Dowd (by Mrs. MalloyMalony ofBallymalony)and Miss Glorvina O'Dowd (byLadyO'Dowd).  Almost directly after thisDobbin's nameappearedamong the Lieutenant-Colonels:  for old MarshalTiptoffhad died during the passage of the --th fromMadrasand the Sovereign was pleased to advanceColonelSir Michael O'Dowd to the rank of Major-General onhis returnto Englandwith an intimation that he shouldbe Colonelof the distinguished regiment which he had solongcommanded.

Amelia hadbeen made aware of some of thesemovements. The correspondence between George and hisguardianhad not ceased by any means:  William had evenwrittenonce or twice to her since his departurebut in amanner sounconstrainedly cold that the poor woman feltnow in herturn that she had lost her power over himand thatas he had saidhe was free.  He had left herand shewas wretched.  The memory of his almost countlessservicesand lofty and affectionate regardnowpresenteditself to her and rebuked her day and night.  Shebroodedover those recollections according to her wontsaw thepurity and beauty of the affection with which shehadtrifledand reproached herself for having flung awaysuch atreasure.

It wasgone indeed.  William had spent it all out.  Heloved herno morehe thoughtas he had loved her.He nevercould again.  That sort of regardwhich he hadprofferedto her for so many faithful yearscan't be flungdown andshattered and mended so as to show no scars.The littleheedless tyrant had so destroyed it.  NoWilliamthoughtagain and again"It was myself I deludedandpersisted in cajoling; had she been worthy of thelove Igave hershe would have returned it long ago.  Itwas a fondmistake.  Isn't the whole course of life madeup ofsuch? And suppose I had won hershould I nothave beendisenchanted the day after my victory? Whypineorbe ashamed of my defeat?" The more he thoughtof thislong passage of his lifethe more clearly he sawhisdeception.  "I'll go into harness again" he said"anddo my dutyin that state of life in which it has pleasedHeaven toplace me.  I will see that the buttons of therecruitsare properly bright and that the sergeants makenomistakes in their accounts.  I will dine at mess andlisten tothe Scotch surgeon telling his stories.  When Iam old andbrokenI will go on half-payand my oldsistersshall scold me.  I have geliebt und gelebetas thegirl in'Wallenstein' says.  I am done.  Pay the bills and getme acigar:  find out what there is at the play to-nightFrancis;to-morrow we cross by the Batavier." He madethe abovespeechwhereof Francis only heard the lasttwo linespacing up and down the Boompjes at Rotterdam.TheBatavier was lying in the basin.  He could seethe placeon the quarter-deck where he and Emmy hadsat on thehappy voyage out.  What had that little Mrs.Crawley tosay to him? Psha; to-morrow we will put toseaandreturn to Englandhomeand duty!

After Juneall the little Court Society of Pumpernickelused toseparateaccording to the German planand makefor a hundred watering-placeswhere theydrank atthe wellsrode upon donkeysgambled at theredoutesif they had money and a mindrushed withhundredsof their kind to gourmandise at the tablesd'hoteand idled away the summer.  The Englishdiplomatistswent off to Teoplitz and Kissingentheir Frenchrivalsshut up their chancellerie and whisked away totheirdarling Boulevard de Gand.  The Transparent reigningfamilytook too to the watersor retired to their huntinglodges. Everybody went away having any pretensionstopolitenessand of coursewith themDoctor vonGlauberthe Court Doctorand his Baroness.  The seasonsfor thebaths were the most productive periods oftheDoctor's practice--he united business with pleasureand hischief place of resort was Ostendwhich is muchfrequentedby Germansand where the Doctor treatedhimselfand his spouse to what he called a "dib" in thesea.

Hisinteresting patientJoswas a regular milch-cowto theDoctorand he easily persuaded the civilianbothfor hisown health's sake and that of his charmingsisterwhich was really very much shatteredto pass thesummer atthat hideous seaport town.  Emmy did notcare whereshe went much.  Georgy jumped at the ideaof amove.  As for Beckyshe came as a matter of coursein thefourth place inside of the fine barouche Mr. Joshadboughtthe two domestics being on the box in front.She mighthave some misgivings about the friends whomshe shouldmeet at Ostendand who might be likely to telluglystories--but bah!  she was strong enough to holdher own. She had cast such an anchor in Jos now aswouldrequire a strong storm to shake.  That incidentof thepicture had finished him.  Becky took downherelephant and put it into the little box which she hadhad fromAmelia ever so many years ago.  Emmy alsocame offwith her Lares--her two pictures--and thepartyfinallywerelodged in an exceedingly dear anduncomfortablehouse at Ostend.

ThereAmelia began to take baths and get what goodshe couldfrom themand though scores of people ofBecky'sacquaintance passed her and cut heryet Mrs.Osbornewho walked about with herand who knewnobodywas not aware of the treatment experienced by thefriendwhom she had chosen so judiciously as acompanion;indeedBecky never thought fit to tell her whatwaspassing under her innocent eyes.

Some ofMrs. Rawdon Crawley's acquaintanceshoweveracknowledgedher readily enough--perhaps morereadilythan she would have desired.  Among those wereMajorLoder (unattached)and Captain Rook (late oftheRifles)who might be seen any day on the Dikesmokingand staring at the womenand who speedily gotanintroduction to the hospitable board and select circleof Mr.Joseph Sedley.  In fact they would take no denial;they burstinto the house whether Becky was at homeor notwalked into Mrs. Osborne's drawing-roomwhichtheyperfumed with their coats and mustachioscalledJos "Oldbuck" and invaded his dinner-tableandlaughedand drank for long hours there.

"Whatcan they mean?" asked Georgywho did notlike thesegentlemen.  "I heard the Major say to Mrs.Crawleyyesterday'NonoBeckyyou shan't keep theold buckto yourself.  We must have the bones inordammyI'll split.' What could the Major meanMamma?"

"Major! don't call him Major!" Emmy said.  "I'm sureI can'ttell what he meant." His presence and that of hisfriendinspired the little lady with intolerable terror andaversion. They paid her tipsy compliments; they leeredat herover the dinner-table.  And the Captain made heradvancesthat filled her with sickening dismaynor wouldshe eversee him unless she had George by her side.

Rebeccato do her justicenever would let either ofthese menremain alone with Amelia; the Major wasdisengagedtooand swore he would be the winner of her.A coupleof ruffians were fighting for this innocent creaturegamblingfor her at her own tableand though shewas notaware of the rascals' designs upon heryet shefelt ahorror and uneasiness in their presence and longedto fly.

Shebesoughtshe entreated Jos to go.  Not he.  He wasslow ofmovementtied to his Doctorand perhaps tosome otherleading-strings.  At least Becky was notanxious togo to England.

At lastshe took a great resolution--made the greatplunge. She wrote off a letter to a friend whom she hadon theother side of the watera letter about which shedid notspeak a word to anybodywhich she carriedherself tothe post under her shawl; nor was any remarkmade aboutitonly that she looked very much flushedandagitated when Georgy met herand she kissed himand hungover him a great deal that night.  She did notcome outof her room after her return from her walk.Beckythought it was Major Loder and the Captain whofrightenedher.

"Shemustn't stop here" Becky reasoned with herself."Shemust go awaythe silly little fool.  She is stillwhimperingafter that gaby of a husband--dead (andservedright!) these fifteen years.  She shan't marry eitherof thesemen.  It's too bad of Loder.  No; she shall marrythe bamboocaneI'll settle it this very night."

So Beckytook a cup of tea to Amelia in her privateapartmentand found that lady in the company of herminiaturesand in a most melancholy and nervouscondition. She laid down the cup of tea.

"Thankyou" said Amelia.

"Listento meAmelia" said Beckymarching up anddown theroom before the other and surveying her witha sort ofcontemptuous kindness.  "I want to talk to you.You mustgo away from here and from the impertinencesof thesemen.  I won't have you harassed by them:  andthey willinsult you if you stay.  I tell you they are rascals:men fit tosend to the hulks.  Never mind how I knowthem. I know everybody.  Jos can't protect you; he is tooweak andwants a protector himself.  You are no more fitto live inthe world than a baby in arms.  You must marryor you andyour precious boy will go to ruin.  You musthave ahusbandyou fool; and one of the best gentlemenI ever sawhas offered you a hundred timesand you haverejectedhimyou sillyheartlessungrateful littlecreature!"

"Itried--I tried my bestindeed I didRebecca" saidAmeliadeprecatingly"but I couldn't forget--"; and shefinishedthe sentence by looking up at the portrait.

"Couldn'tforget HIM!" cried out Becky"that selfishhumbugthat low-bred cockney dandythat paddedboobywhohad neither witnor mannersnor heartandwas nomore to be compared to your friend with thebamboocane than you are to Queen Elizabeth.  Whythe manwas weary of youand would have jilted youbutthatDobbin forced him to keep his word.  He owned itto me. He never cared for you.  He used to sneer aboutyou to metime after timeand made love to me theweek afterhe married you."

"It'sfalse!  It's false!  Rebecca" cried out Ameliastartingup.

"Lookthereyou fool" Becky saidstill with provokinggoodhumourand taking a little paper out of herbeltsheopened it and flung it into Emmy's lap.  "Youknow hishandwriting.  He wrote that to me--wanted meto runaway with him--gave it me under your nosetheday beforehe was shot--and served him right!" Beckyrepeated.

Emmy didnot hear her; she was looking at the letter.It wasthat which George had put into the bouquet andgiven toBecky on the night of the Duchess of Richmond'sball. It was as she said:  the foolish young manhad askedher to fly.

Emmy'shead sank downand for almost the last timein whichshe shall be called upon to weep in this historyshecommenced that work.  Her head fell to her bosomandher handswent up to her eyes; and there for a whileshegave wayto her emotionsas Becky stood on andregardedher.  Who shall analyse those tears and saywhetherthey were sweet or bitter? Was she most grievedbecausethe idol of her life was tumbled down andshiveredat her feetor indignant that her love had been sodespisedor glad because the barrier was removed whichmodestyhad placed between her and a newa real affection?"Thereis nothing to forbid me now" she thought."Imay love him with all my heart now.  OhI willI willif he willbut let me and forgive me." I believe it was thisfeelingrushed over all the others which agitated thatgentlelittle bosom.

Indeedshe did not cry so much as Becky expected--the othersoothed and kissed her--a rare mark ofsympathywith Mrs. Becky.  She treated Emmy like a childand pattedher head.  "And now let us get pen and inkand writeto him to come this minute" she said.

"I--Iwrote to him this morning" Emmy saidblushingexceedingly. Becky screamed with laughter--"Unbiglietto"she sang out with Rosina"eccolo qua!"--thewholehouse echoed with her shrill singing.

Twomornings after this little scenealthough the daywas rainyand gustyand Amelia had had an exceedinglywakefulnightlistening to the wind roaringand pityingalltravellers by land and by wateryet she got up earlyandinsisted upon taking a walk on the Dike with Georgy;and thereshe paced as the rain beat into her faceandshe lookedout westward across the dark sea line andover theswollen billows which came tumbling and frothingto theshore.  Neither spoke muchexcept now andthenwhenthe boy said a few words to his timidcompanionindicative of sympathy and protection.

"Ihope he won't cross in such weather" Emmy said.

"Ibet ten to one he does" the boy answered.  "LookMotherthere's the smoke of the steamer." It was thatsignalsure enough.

But thoughthe steamer was under wayhe might notbe onboard; he might not have got the letter; he mightnot chooseto come.  A hundred fears poured one over theother intothe little heartas fast as the waves on to theDike.

The boatfollowed the smoke into sight.  Georgy had adandytelescope and got the vessel under view in the mostskilfulmanner.  And he made appropriate nauticalcommentsupon the manner of the approach of the steameras shecame nearer and nearerdipping and rising in thewater. The signal of an English steamer in sight wentflutteringup to the mast on the pier.  I daresay Mrs.Amelia'sheart was in a similar flutter.

Emmy triedto look through the telescope overGeorge'sshoulderbut she could make nothing of it.She onlysaw a black eclipse bobbing up and downbefore hereyes.

Georgetook the glass again and raked the vessel."Howshe does pitch!" he said.  "There goes a wave slapover herbows.  There's only two people on deck besidesthesteersman.  There's a man lying downand a--chapina--cloak with a--Hooray!--it's Dobby Jingo!"He clappedto the telescope and flung his arms roundhismother.  As for that ladylet us say what she did inthe wordsof a favourite poet--"Dakruoen gelasasa." Shewas sureit was William.  It could be no other.  What shehad saidabout hoping that he would not come was allhypocrisy. Of course he would come; what could he doelse butcome? She knew he would come.

The shipcame swiftly nearer and nearer.  As they wentin to meether at the landing-place at the quayEmmy'skneestrembled so that she scarcely could run.  She wouldhave likedto kneel down and say her prayers of thanksthere. Ohshe thoughtshe would be all her life sayingthem!

It wassuch a bad day that as the vessel came alongsideof thequay there were no idlers abroadscarcelyeven acommissioner on the look out for the fewpassengersin the steamer.  That young scapegrace Georgehad fledtooand as the gentleman in the old cloak linedwith redstuff stepped on to the shorethere was scarcelyany onepresent to see what took placewhich was brieflythis:

A lady ina dripping white bonnet and shawlwith hertwo littlehands out before herwent up to himand inthe nextminute she had altogether disappeared under thefolds ofthe old cloakand was kissing one of his handswith allher might; whilst the otherI supposewasengaged inholding her to his heart (which her head justaboutreached) and in preventing her from tumblingdown. She was murmuring something about--forgive--dearWilliam--deardeardearest friend--kisskisskissand soforth--and in fact went on under the cloak in anabsurdmanner.

When Emmyemerged from itshe still kept tight holdof one ofWilliam's handsand looked up in his face.  Itwas fullof sadness and tender love and pity.  Sheunderstoodits reproach and hung down her head.

"Itwas time you sent for medear Amelia" he said.

"Youwill never go againWilliam?"

"Nonever" he answeredand pressed the dear littlesoul oncemore to his heart.

As theyissued out of the custom-house precinctsGeorgybroke out on themwith his telescope up to hiseyeand aloud laugh of welcome; he danced round thecouple andperformed many facetious antics as he ledthem up tothe house.  Jos wasn't up yet; Becky notvisible(though she looked at them through the blinds).Georgy ranoff to see about breakfast.  Emmywhoseshawl andbonnet were off in the passage in the hands ofMrs.Paynenow went to undo the clasp of William'scloakand--we willif you pleasego with Georgeandlook afterbreakfast for the Colonel.  The vessel is in port.He has gotthe prize he has been trying for all his life.The birdhas come in at last.  There it is with its head onhisshoulderbilling and cooing close up to his heartwith softoutstretched fluttering wings.  This is what hehas askedfor every day and hour for eighteen years.  Thisis what hepined after.  Here it is--the summitthe end--the lastpage of the third volume.  Good-byeColonel--God blessyouhonest William!--Farewelldear Amelia--Growgreen againtender little parasiteround therugged oldoak to which you cling!

Perhaps itwas compunction towards the kind andsimplecreaturewho had been the first in life to defendherperhaps it was a dislike to all such sentimental scenes--butRebeccasatisfied with her part in the transactionneverpresented herself before Colonel Dobbin and thelady whomhe married.  "Particular business" she saidtook herto Brugeswhither she wentand only Georgyand hisuncle were present at the marriage ceremony.When itwas overand Georgy had rejoined his parentsMrs. Beckyreturned (just for a few days) to comfort thesolitarybachelorJoseph Sedley.  He preferred acontinentallifehe saidand declined to join in housekeepingwith hissister and her husband.

Emmy wasvery glad in her heart to think that shehadwritten to her husband before she read or knew ofthatletter of George's.  "I knew it all along" Williamsaid; "butcould I use that weapon against the poorfellow'smemory? It was that which made me suffer sowhenyou--"

"Neverspeak of that day again" Emmy cried outsocontriteand humble that William turned off theconversationby his account of Glorvina and dear old PeggyO'Dowdwith whom he was sitting when the letter ofrecallreached him.  "If you hadn't sent for me" he addedwith alaugh"who knows what Glorvina's name mightbe now?"

At presentit is Glorvina Posky (now Mrs. MajorPosky);she took him on the death of his first wifehavingresolved never to marry out of the regiment.  LadyO'Dowd isalso so attached to it thatshe saysif anythingwere tohappen to Mickbedad she'd come backand marrysome of 'em.  But the Major-General is quitewell andlives in great splendour at O'Dowdstownwitha pack ofbeaglesand (with the exception of perhapstheirneighbourHoggarty of Castle Hoggarty) he is thefirst manof his county.  Her Ladyship still dances jigsandinsistedon standing up with the Master of the Horse atthe LordLieutenant's last ball.  Both she and Glorvinadeclaredthat Dobbin had used the latter SHEAMFULLYbutPoskyfalling inGlorvina was consoledand a beautifulturbanfrom Paris appeased the wrath of Lady O'Dowd.

WhenColonel Dobbin quitted the servicewhich he didimmediatelyafter his marriagehe rented a pretty littlecountryplace in Hampshirenot far from Queen's Crawleywhereafter the passing of the Reform BillSir Pittand hisfamily constantly resided now.  All idea of aPeeragewas out of the questionthe Baronet's two seatsinParliament being lost.  He was both out of pocket andout ofspirits by that catastrophefailed in his healthandprophesied the speedy ruin of the Empire.

Lady Janeand Mrs. Dobbin became great friends--there wasa perpetual crossing of pony-chaises betweenthe Halland the Evergreensthe Colonel's place (rentedof hisfriend Major Pontowho was abroad with hisfamily). Her Ladyship was godmother to Mrs. Dobbin's childwhich boreher nameand was christened by the Rev.JamesCrawleywho succeeded his father in the living:and apretty close friendship subsisted between the twoladsGeorge and Rawdonwho hunted and shot togetherin thevacationswere both entered of the same collegeatCambridgeand quarrelled with each other about LadyJane'sdaughterwith whom they were bothof coursein love. A match between George and that young lady waslong afavourite scheme of both the matronsthough Ihave heardthat Miss Crawley herself inclined towardshercousin.

Mrs.Rawdon Crawley's name was never mentioned byeitherfamily.  There were reasons why all should be silentregardingher.  For wherever Mr. Joseph Sedley wentshetravelledlikewiseand that infatuated man seemed to beentirelyher slave.  The Colonel's lawyers informed himthat hisbrother-in-law had effected a heavy insuranceupon hislifewhence it was probable that he had beenraisingmoney to discharge debts.  He procured prolongedleave ofabsence from the East India Houseand indeedhisinfirmities were daily increasing.

On hearingthe news about the insuranceAmeliaina gooddeal of alarmentreated her husband to go toBrusselswhere Jos then wasand inquire into the stateof hisaffairs.  The Colonel quitted home with reluctance(for hewas deeply immersed in his History of thePunjaubwhich still occupies himand much alarmedabout hislittle daughterwhom he idolizesand who wasjustrecovering from the chicken-pox) and went to Brusselsand foundJos living at one of the enormous hotelsin thatcity.  Mrs. Crawleywho had her carriagegaveentertainmentsand lived in a very genteel manneroccupiedanother suite of apartments in the same hotel.

TheColonelof coursedid not desire to see that ladyor eventhink proper to notify his arrival at Brusselsexceptprivately to Jos by a message through his valet.  Josbegged theColonel to come and see him that nightwhenMrs.Crawley would be at a soireeand when they couldmeetalone.  He found his brother-in-law in a condition ofpitiableinfirmity--and dreadfully afraid of Rebeccathougheager in his praises of her.  She tended him througha seriesof unheard-of illnesses with a fidelity mostadmirable. She had been a daughter to him.  "But--but--ohforGod's sakedo come and live near meand--and--see mesometimes" whimpered out the unfortunateman.

TheColonel's brow darkened at this.  "We can'tJos"he said. "Considering the circumstancesAmelia can'tvisityou."

"Iswear to you--I swear to you on the Bible" gaspedoutJosephwanting to kiss the book"that she is asinnocentas a childas spotless as your own wife."

"Itmay be so" said the Colonel gloomily"but Emmycan't cometo you.  Be a manJos:  break off thisdisreputableconnection.  Come home to your family.  We hearyouraffairs are involved."

"Involved!"cried Jos.  "Who has told such calumnies?All mymoney is placed out most advantageously.  Mrs.Crawley--thatis--I mean--it is laid out to the bestinterest."

"Youare not in debtthen? Why did you insure yourlife?"

"Ithought--a little present to her--in case anythinghappened;and you know my health is so delicate--commongratitudeyou know--and I intend to leave all mymoney toyou--and I can spare it out of my incomeindeed Ican" cried out William's weak brother-in-law.

TheColonel besought Jos to fly at once--to go back toIndiawhither Mrs. Crawley could not follow him; todoanything to break off a connection which might havethe mostfatal consequences to him.

Josclasped his hands and cried"He would go back toIndia. He would do anythingonly he must have time:theymustn't say anything to Mrs. Crawley--she'd--she'dkill me ifshe knew it.  You don't know what a terriblewoman sheis" the poor wretch said.

"Thenwhy not come away with me?" said Dobbin inreply; butJos had not the courage.  "He would seeDobbinagain in the morning; he must on no account say thathe hadbeen there.  He must go now.  Becky might comein."And Dobbin quitted himfull of forebodings.

He neversaw Jos more.  Three months afterwardsJosephSedley died at Aix-la-Chapelle.  It was found thatall hisproperty had been muddled away in speculationsand wasrepresented by valueless shares in differentbubblecompanies.  All his available assets were the twothousandpounds for which his life was insuredand whichwere leftequally between his beloved "sister Ameliawife of&c.and his friend and invaluable attendantduringsicknessRebeccawife of Lieutenant-ColonelRawdonCrawleyC.B." who was appointed administratrix.

Thesolicitor of the insurance company swore it wastheblackest case that ever had come before himtalkedof sendinga commission to Aix to examine into the deathand theCompany refused payment of the policy.  ButMrs.orLady Crawleyas she styled herselfcame totown atonce (attended with her solicitorsMessrs.  BurkeThurtelland Hayesof Thavies Inn) and dared theCompany torefuse the payment.  They invited examinationtheydeclared that she was the object of an infamousconspiracywhich had been pursuing her all through lifeandtriumphed finally.  The money was paidand hercharacterestablishedbut Colonel Dobbin sent back his shareof thelegacy to the insurance office and rigidly declined tohold anycommunication with Rebecca

She neverwas Lady Crawleythough she continued soto callherself.  His Excellency Colonel Rawdon Crawleydied ofyellow fever at Coventry Islandmost deeplybelovedand deploredand six weeks before the demise ofhisbrotherSir Pitt.  The estate consequently devolvedupon thepresent Sir Rawdon CrawleyBart.

Hetoohas declined to see his motherto whom hemakes aliberal allowanceand whobesidesappears tobe verywealthy.  The Baronet lives entirely at Queen'sCrawleywith Lady Jane and her daughterwhilst RebeccaLadyCrawleychiefly hangs about Bath and Cheltenhamwhere avery strong party of excellent peopleconsiderher to be a most injured woman.  She has herenemies. Who has not? Her life is her answer to them.She busiesherself in works of piety.  She goes to churchand neverwithout a footman.  Her name is in all theCharityLists.  The destitute orange-girlthe neglectedwasherwomanthe distressed muffin-man find in her afast andgenerous friend.  She is always having stalls atFancyFairs for the benefit of these hapless beings.  Emmyherchildrenand the Colonelcoming to London sometime backfound themselves suddenly before her at oneof thesefairs.  She cast down her eyes demurely andsmiled asthey started away from her; Emmy scurryingoff on thearm of George (now grown a dashing younggentleman)and the Colonel seizing up his little Janeyof whom heis fonder than of anything in the world--fondereven than of his History of the Punjaub.

"Fonderthan he is of me" Emmy thinks with a sighBut henever said a word to Amelia that was not kind andgentleorthought of a want of hers that he did not try togratify.

Ah! Vanitas Vanitatum!  which of us is happy in thisworld?Which of us has his desire? orhaving itis satisfied?--comechildrenlet us shut up the box and the puppetsfor ourplay is played out.

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