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George was too humane or too much occupied with the tie of hisneckcloth to convey at once all the news to Amelia which his comradehad brought with him from London. He came into her room, however,holding the attorney's letter in his hand, and with so solemn andimportant an air that his wife, always ingeniously on the watch forcalamity, thought the worst was about to befall, and running up to herhusband, besought her dearest George to tell her everything--he wasordered abroad; there would be a battle next week--she knew there would.

Dearest George parried the question about foreign service, and with amelancholy shake of the head said, "No, Emmy; it isn't that: it's notmyself I care about: it's you. I have had bad news from my father. Herefuses any communication with me; he has flung us off; and leaves usto poverty. I can rough it well enough; but you, my dear, how will youbear it? read here." And he handed her over the letter.

Amelia, with a look of tender alarm in her eyes, listened to her noblehero as he uttered the above generous sentiments, and sitting down onthe bed, read the letter which George gave her with such a pompousmartyr-like air. Her face cleared up as she read the document,however. The idea of sharing poverty and privation in company with thebeloved object is, as we have before said, far from being disagreeableto a warm-hearted woman. The notion was actually pleasant to littleAmelia. Then, as usual, she was ashamed of herself for feeling happyat such an indecorous moment, and checked her pleasure, sayingdemurely, "O, George, how your poor heart must bleed at the idea ofbeing separated from your papa!"

"It does," said George, with an agonised countenance.

"But he can't be angry with you long," she continued. "Nobody could,I'm sure. He must forgive you, my dearest, kindest husband. O, Ishall never forgive myself if he does not."

"What vexes me, my poor Emmy, is not my misfortune, but yours," Georgesaid. "I don't care for a little poverty; and I think, without vanity,I've talents enough to make my own way."

"That you have," interposed his wife, who thought that war shouldcease, and her husband should be made a general instantly.

"Yes, I shall make my way as well as another," Osborne went on; "butyou, my dear girl, how can I bear your being deprived of the comfortsand station in society which my wife had a right to expect? My dearestgirl in barracks; the wife of a soldier in a marching regiment; subjectto all sorts of annoyance and privation! It makes me miserable."

Emmy, quite at ease, as this was her husband's only cause of disquiet,took his hand, and with a radiant face and smile began to warble thatstanza from the favourite song of "Wapping Old Stairs," in which theheroine, after rebuking her Tom for inattention, promises "his trousersto mend, and his grog too to make," if he will be constant and kind,and not forsake her. "Besides," she said, after a pause, during whichshe looked as pretty and happy as any young woman need, "isn't twothousand pounds an immense deal of money, George?"

George laughed at her naivete; and finally they went down to dinner,Amelia clinging to George's arm, still warbling the tune of "WappingOld Stairs," and more pleased and light of mind than she had been forsome days past.

Thus the repast, which at length came off, instead of being dismal, wasan exceedingly brisk and merry one. The excitement of the campaigncounteracted in George's mind the depression occasioned by thedisinheriting letter. Dobbin still kept up his character of rattle. Heamused the company with accounts of the army in Belgium; where nothingbut fetes and gaiety and fashion were going on. Then, having aparticular end in view, this dexterous captain proceeded to describeMrs. Major O'Dowd packing her own and her Major's wardrobe, and how hisbest epaulets had been stowed into a tea canister, whilst her ownfamous yellow turban, with the bird of paradise wrapped in brown paper,was locked up in the Major's tin cocked-hat case, and wondered whateffect it would have at the French king's court at Ghent, or the greatmilitary balls at Brussels.

"Ghent! Brussels!" cried out Amelia with a sudden shock and start. "Isthe regiment ordered away, George--is it ordered away?" A look ofterror came over the sweet smiling face, and she clung to George as byan instinct.

"Don't be afraid, dear," he said good-naturedly; "it is but a twelvehours' passage. It won't hurt you. You shall go, too, Emmy."

"I intend to go," said Becky. "I'm on the staff. General Tufto is agreat flirt of mine. Isn't he, Rawdon?" Rawdon laughed out with hisusual roar. William Dobbin flushed up quite red. "She can't go," hesaid; "think of the--of the danger," he was going to add; but had notall his conversation during dinner-time tended to prove there was none?He became very confused and silent.

"I must and will go," Amelia cried with the greatest spirit; andGeorge, applauding her resolution, patted her under the chin, and askedall the persons present if they ever saw such a termagant of a wife,and agreed that the lady should bear him company. "We'll have Mrs.O'Dowd to chaperon you," he said. What cared she so long as herhusband was near her? Thus somehow the bitterness of a parting wasjuggled away. Though war and danger were in store, war and dangermight not befall for months to come. There was a respite at any rate,which made the timid little Amelia almost as happy as a full reprievewould have done, and which even Dobbin owned in his heart was verywelcome. For, to be permitted to see her was now the greatestprivilege and hope of his life, and he thought with himself secretlyhow he would watch and protect her. I wouldn't have let her go if Ihad been married to her, he thought. But George was the master, andhis friend did not think fit to remonstrate.

Putting her arm round her friend's waist, Rebecca at length carriedAmelia off from the dinner-table where so much business of importancehad been discussed, and left the gentlemen in a highly exhilaratedstate, drinking and talking very gaily.

In the course of the evening Rawdon got a little family-note from hiswife, which, although he crumpled it up and burnt it instantly in thecandle, we had the good luck to read over Rebecca's shoulder. "Greatnews," she wrote. "Mrs. Bute is gone. Get the money from Cupidtonight, as he'll be off to-morrow most likely. Mind this.--R." Sowhen the little company was about adjourning to coffee in the women'sapartment, Rawdon touched Osborne on the elbow, and said gracefully, "Isay, Osborne, my boy, if quite convenient, I'll trouble you for that'ere small trifle." It was not quite convenient, but neverthelessGeorge gave him a considerable present instalment in bank-notes fromhis pocket-book, and a bill on his agents at a week's date, for theremaining sum.

This matter arranged, George, and Jos, and Dobbin, held a council ofwar over their cigars, and agreed that a general move should be madefor London in Jos's open carriage the next day. Jos, I think, wouldhave preferred staying until Rawdon Crawley quitted Brighton, butDobbin and George overruled him, and he agreed to carry the party totown, and ordered four horses, as became his dignity. With these theyset off in state, after breakfast, the next day. Amelia had risen veryearly in the morning, and packed her little trunks with the greatestalacrity, while Osborne lay in bed deploring that she had not a maid tohelp her. She was only too glad, however, to perform this office forherself. A dim uneasy sentiment about Rebecca filled her mind already;and although they kissed each other most tenderly at parting, yet weknow what jealousy is; and Mrs. Amelia possessed that among othervirtues of her sex.

Besides these characters who are coming and going away, we mustremember that there were some other old friends of ours at Brighton;Miss Crawley, namely, and the suite in attendance upon her. Now,although Rebecca and her husband were but at a few stones' throw of thelodgings which the invalid Miss Crawley occupied, the old lady's doorremained as pitilessly closed to them as it had been heretofore inLondon. As long as she remained by the side of her sister-in-law,Mrs. Bute Crawley took care that her beloved Matilda should not beagitated by a meeting with her nephew. When the spinster took herdrive, the faithful Mrs. Bute sate beside her in the carriage. WhenMiss Crawley took the air in a chair, Mrs. Bute marched on one side ofthe vehicle, whilst honest Briggs occupied the other wing. And if theymet Rawdon and his wife by chance--although the former constantly andobsequiously took off his hat, the Miss-Crawley party passed him bywith such a frigid and killing indifference, that Rawdon began todespair.

"We might as well be in London as here," Captain Rawdon often said,with a downcast air.

"A comfortable inn in Brighton is better than a spunging-house inChancery Lane," his wife answered, who was of a more cheerfultemperament. "Think of those two aides-de-camp of Mr. Moses, thesheriff's-officer, who watched our lodging for a week. Our friendshere are very stupid, but Mr. Jos and Captain Cupid are bettercompanions than Mr. Moses's men, Rawdon, my love."

"I wonder the writs haven't followed me down here," Rawdon continued,still desponding.

"When they do, we'll find means to give them the slip," said dauntlesslittle Becky, and further pointed out to her husband the great comfortand advantage of meeting Jos and Osborne, whose acquaintance hadbrought to Rawdon Crawley a most timely little supply of ready money.

"It will hardly be enough to pay the inn bill," grumbled the Guardsman.

"Why need we pay it?" said the lady, who had an answer for everything.

Through Rawdon's valet, who still kept up a trifling acquaintance withthe male inhabitants of Miss Crawley's servants' hall, and wasinstructed to treat the coachman to drink whenever they met, old MissCrawley's movements were pretty well known by our young couple; andRebecca luckily bethought herself of being unwell, and of calling inthe same apothecary who was in attendance upon the spinster, so thattheir information was on the whole tolerably complete. Nor was MissBriggs, although forced to adopt a hostile attitude, secretly inimicalto Rawdon and his wife. She was naturally of a kindly and forgivingdisposition. Now that the cause of jealousy was removed, her dislikefor Rebecca disappeared also, and she remembered the latter'sinvariable good words and good humour. And, indeed, she and Mrs.Firkin, the lady's-maid, and the whole of Miss Crawley's household,groaned under the tyranny of the triumphant Mrs. Bute.

As often will be the case, that good but imperious woman pushed heradvantages too far, and her successes quite unmercifully. She had inthe course of a few weeks brought the invalid to such a state ofhelpless docility, that the poor soul yielded herself entirely to hersister's orders, and did not even dare to complain of her slavery toBriggs or Firkin. Mrs. Bute measured out the glasses of wine whichMiss Crawley was daily allowed to take, with irresistible accuracy,greatly to the annoyance of Firkin and the butler, who found themselvesdeprived of control over even the sherry-bottle. She apportioned thesweetbreads, jellies, chickens; their quantity and order. Night andnoon and morning she brought the abominable drinks ordained by theDoctor, and made her patient swallow them with so affecting anobedience that Firkin said "my poor Missus du take her physic like alamb." She prescribed the drive in the carriage or the ride in thechair, and, in a word, ground down the old lady in her convalescence insuch a way as only belongs to your proper-managing, motherly moralwoman. If ever the patient faintly resisted, and pleaded for a littlebit more dinner or a little drop less medicine, the nurse threatenedher with instantaneous death, when Miss Crawley instantly gave in."She's no spirit left in her," Firkin remarked to Briggs; "she ain'tave called me a fool these three weeks." Finally, Mrs. Bute had made upher mind to dismiss the aforesaid honest lady's-maid, Mr. Bowls thelarge confidential man, and Briggs herself, and to send for herdaughters from the Rectory, previous to removing the dear invalidbodily to Queen's Crawley, when an odious accident happened whichcalled her away from duties so pleasing. The Reverend Bute Crawley,her husband, riding home one night, fell with his horse and broke hiscollar-bone. Fever and inflammatory symptoms set in, and Mrs. Bute wasforced to leave Sussex for Hampshire. As soon as ever Bute wasrestored, she promised to return to her dearest friend, and departed,leaving the strongest injunctions with the household regarding theirbehaviour to their mistress; and as soon as she got into theSouthampton coach, there was such a jubilee and sense of relief in allMiss Crawley's house, as the company of persons assembled there had notexperienced for many a week before. That very day Miss Crawley leftoff her afternoon dose of medicine: that afternoon Bowls opened anindependent bottle of sherry for himself and Mrs. Firkin: that nightMiss Crawley and Miss Briggs indulged in a game of piquet instead ofone of Porteus's sermons. It was as in the old nursery-story, whenthe stick forgot to beat the dog, and the whole course of eventsunderwent a peaceful and happy revolution.

At a very early hour in the morning, twice or thrice a week, MissBriggs used to betake herself to a bathing-machine, and disport in thewater in a flannel gown and an oilskin cap. Rebecca, as we have seen,was aware of this circumstance, and though she did not attempt to stormBriggs as she had threatened, and actually dive into that lady'spresence and surprise her under the sacredness of the awning, Mrs.Rawdon determined to attack Briggs as she came away from her bath,refreshed and invigorated by her dip, and likely to be in good humour.

So getting up very early the next morning, Becky brought the telescopein their sitting-room, which faced the sea, to bear upon thebathing-machines on the beach; saw Briggs arrive, enter her box; andput out to sea; and was on the shore just as the nymph of whom she camein quest stepped out of the little caravan on to the shingles. It wasa pretty picture: the beach; the bathing-women's faces; the long lineof rocks and building were blushing and bright in the sunshine.Rebecca wore a kind, tender smile on her face, and was holding out herpretty white hand as Briggs emerged from the box. What could Briggs dobut accept the salutation?

"Miss Sh--Mrs. Crawley," she said.

Mrs. Crawley seized her hand, pressed it to her heart, and with asudden impulse, flinging her arms round Briggs, kissed heraffectionately. "Dear, dear friend!" she said, with a touch of suchnatural feeling, that Miss Briggs of course at once began to melt, andeven the bathing-woman was mollified.

Rebecca found no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a long, intimate, anddelightful conversation. Everything that had passed since the morningof Becky's sudden departure from Miss Crawley's house in Park Lane upto the present day, and Mrs. Bute's happy retreat, was discussed anddescribed by Briggs. All Miss Crawley's symptoms, and the particularsof her illness and medical treatment, were narrated by the confidantewith that fulness and accuracy which women delight in. About theircomplaints and their doctors do ladies ever tire of talking to eachother? Briggs did not on this occasion; nor did Rebecca weary oflistening. She was thankful, truly thankful, that the dear kindBriggs, that the faithful, the invaluable Firkin, had been permitted toremain with their benefactress through her illness. Heaven bless her!though she, Rebecca, had 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 won her heart? Briggs, thesentimental, could only turn up her eyes to heaven at this appeal, andheave a sympathetic sigh, and think that she, too, had given away heraffections long years ago, and own that Rebecca was no very greatcriminal.

"Can I ever forget her who so befriended the friendless orphan? No,though she has cast me off," the latter said, "I shall never cease tolove her, and I would devote my life to her service. As my ownbenefactress, as my beloved Rawdon's adored relative, I love and admireMiss Crawley, dear Miss Briggs, beyond any woman in the world, and nextto her I love all those who are faithful to her. I would never havetreated Miss Crawley's faithful friends as that odious designing Mrs.Bute has done. Rawdon, who was all heart," Rebecca continued,"although his outward manners might seem rough and careless, had said ahundred times, with tears in his eyes, that he blessed Heaven forsending his dearest Aunty two such admirable nurses as her attachedFirkin and her admirable Miss Briggs. Should the machinations of thehorrible Mrs. Bute end, as she too much feared they would, in banishingeverybody that Miss Crawley loved from her side, and leaving that poorlady a victim to those harpies at the Rectory, Rebecca besought her(Miss Briggs) to remember that her own home, humble as it was, wasalways open to receive Briggs. Dear friend," she exclaimed, in atransport of enthusiasm, "some hearts can never forget benefits; allwomen are not Bute Crawleys! Though why should I complain of her,"Rebecca added; "though I have been her tool and the victim to her arts,do I not owe my dearest Rawdon to her?" And Rebecca unfolded to Briggsall Mrs. Bute's conduct at Queen's Crawley, which, thoughunintelligible to her then, was clearly enough explained by the eventsnow--now that the attachment had sprung up which Mrs. Bute hadencouraged by a thousand artifices--now that two innocent people hadfallen into the snares which she had laid for them, and loved andmarried and been ruined through her schemes.

It was all very true. Briggs saw the stratagems as clearly aspossible. Mrs. Bute had made the match between Rawdon and Rebecca.Yet, though the latter was a perfectly innocent victim, Miss Briggscould not disguise from her friend her fear that Miss Crawley'saffections were hopelessly estranged from Rebecca, and that the oldlady would never forgive her nephew for making so imprudent a marriage.

On this point Rebecca had her own opinion, and still kept up a goodheart. If Miss Crawley did not forgive them at present, she might atleast relent on a future day. Even now, there was only that puling,sickly Pitt Crawley between Rawdon and a baronetcy; and should anythinghappen to the former, all would be well. At all events, to have Mrs.Bute's designs exposed, and herself well abused, was a satisfaction,and might be advantageous to Rawdon's interest; and Rebecca, after anhour's chat with her recovered friend, left her with the most tenderdemonstrations of regard, and quite assured that the conversation theyhad had together would be reported to Miss Crawley before many hourswere over.

This interview ended, it became full time for Rebecca to return to herinn, where all the party of the previous day were assembled at afarewell breakfast. Rebecca took such a tender leave of Amelia asbecame two women who loved each other as sisters; and having used herhandkerchief plentifully, and hung on her friend's neck as if they wereparting for ever, and waved the handkerchief (which was quite dry, bythe way) out of window, as the carriage drove off, she came back to thebreakfast table, and ate some prawns with a good deal of appetite,considering her emotion; and while she was munching these delicacies,explained to Rawdon what had occurred in her morning walk betweenherself and Briggs. Her hopes were very high: she made her husbandshare them. She generally succeeded in making her husband share allher opinions, whether melancholy or cheerful.

"You will now, if you please, my dear, sit down at the writing-tableand pen me a pretty little letter to Miss Crawley, in which you'll saythat you are a good boy, and that sort of thing." So Rawdon sate down,and wrote off, "Brighton, Thursday," and "My dear Aunt," with greatrapidity: but there the gallant officer's imagination failed him. Hemumbled the end of his pen, and looked up in his wife's face. Shecould not help laughing at his rueful countenance, and marching up anddown the room with her hands behind her, the little woman began todictate a letter, which he took down.

"Before quitting the country and commencing a campaign, which verypossibly may be fatal."

"What?" said Rawdon, rather surprised, but took the humour of thephrase, and presently wrote it down with a grin.

"Which very possibly may be fatal, I have come hither--"

"Why not say come here, Becky? Come here's grammar," the dragooninterposed.

"I have come hither," Rebecca insisted, with a stamp of her foot, "tosay farewell to my dearest and earliest friend. I beseech you before Igo, not perhaps to return, once more to let me press the hand fromwhich I have received nothing but kindnesses all my life."

"Kindnesses all my life," echoed Rawdon, scratching down the words, andquite amazed at his own facility of composition.

"I ask nothing from you but that we should part not in anger. I havethe pride of my family on some points, though not on all. I married apainter's daughter, and am not ashamed of the union."

"No, run me through the body if I am!" Rawdon ejaculated.

"You old booby," Rebecca said, pinching his ear and looking over to seethat he made no mistakes in spelling--"beseech is not spelt with an a,and earliest is." So he altered these words, bowing to the superiorknowledge of his little Missis.

"I thought that you were aware of the progress of my attachment,"Rebecca continued: "I knew that Mrs. Bute Crawley confirmed andencouraged it. But I make no reproaches. I married a poor woman, andam content to abide by what I have done. Leave your property, dearAunt, as you will. I shall never complain of the way in which youdispose of it. I would have you believe that I love you for yourself,and not for money's sake. I want to be reconciled to you ere I leaveEngland. Let me, let me see you before I go. A few weeks or monthshence it may be too late, and I cannot bear the notion of quitting thecountry without a kind word of farewell from you."

"She won't recognise my style in that," said Becky. "I made thesentences short and brisk on purpose." And this authentic missive wasdespatched under cover to Miss Briggs.

Old Miss Crawley laughed when Briggs, with great mystery, handed herover this candid and simple statement. "We may read it now Mrs. Buteis away," she said. "Read it to me, Briggs."

When Briggs had read the epistle out, her patroness laughed more."Don't you see, you goose," she said to Briggs, who professed to bemuch touched by the honest affection which pervaded the composition,"don't you see that Rawdon never wrote a word of it. He never wrote tome without asking for money in his life, and all his letters are fullof bad spelling, and dashes, and bad grammar. It is that littleserpent of a governess who rules him." They are all alike, Miss Crawleythought in her heart. They all want me dead, and are hankering for mymoney.

"I don't mind seeing Rawdon," she added, after a pause, and in a toneof perfect indifference. "I had just as soon shake hands with him asnot. Provided there is no scene, why shouldn't we meet? I don't mind.But human patience has its limits; and mind, my dear, I respectfullydecline to receive Mrs. Rawdon--I can't support that quite"--and MissBriggs was fain to be content with this half-message of conciliation;and thought that the best method of bringing the old lady and hernephew together, was to warn Rawdon to be in waiting on the Cliff, whenMiss Crawley went out for her air in her chair. There they met. Idon't know whether Miss Crawley had any private feeling of regard oremotion upon seeing her old favourite; but she held out a couple offingers to him with as smiling and good-humoured an air, as if they hadmet only the day before. And as for Rawdon, he turned as red asscarlet, and wrung off Briggs's hand, so great was his rapture and hisconfusion at the meeting. Perhaps it was interest that moved him: orperhaps affection: perhaps he was touched by the change which theillness of the last weeks had wrought in his aunt.

"The old girl has always acted like a trump to me," he said to hiswife, as he narrated the interview, "and I felt, you know, ratherqueer, and that sort of thing. I walked by the side of thewhat-dy'e-call-'em, you know, and to her own door, where Bowls came to helpher in. And I wanted to go in very much, only--"

"YOU DIDN'T GO IN, Rawdon!" screamed his wife.

"No, my dear; I'm hanged if I wasn't afraid when it came to the point."

"You fool! you ought to have gone in, and never come out again,"Rebecca said.

"Don't call me names," said the big Guardsman, sulkily. "Perhaps I WASa fool, Becky, but you shouldn't say so"; and he gave his wife a look,such as his countenance could wear when angered, and such as was notpleasant to face.

"Well, dearest, to-morrow you must be on the look-out, and go and seeher, mind, whether she asks you or no," Rebecca said, trying to sootheher angry yoke-mate. On which he replied, that he would do exactly ashe liked, and would just thank her to keep a civil tongue in herhead--and the wounded husband went away, and passed the forenoon at thebilliard-room, sulky, silent, and suspicious.

But before the night was over he was compelled to give in, and own, asusual, to his wife's superior prudence and foresight, by the mostmelancholy confirmation of the presentiments which she had regardingthe consequences of the mistake which he had made. Miss Crawley musthave had some emotion upon seeing him and shaking hands with him afterso long a rupture. She mused upon the meeting a considerable time."Rawdon is getting very fat and old, Briggs," she said to hercompanion. "His nose has become red, and he is exceedingly coarse inappearance. His marriage to that woman has hopelessly vulgarised him.Mrs. Bute always said they drank together; and I have no doubt they do.Yes: he smelt of gin abominably. I remarked it. Didn't you?"

In vain Briggs interposed that Mrs. Bute spoke ill of everybody: and,as far as a person in her humble position could judge, was an--

"An artful designing woman? Yes, so she is, and she does speak ill ofevery one--but I am certain that woman has made Rawdon drink. All thoselow people do--"

"He was very much affected at seeing you, ma'am," the companion said;"and I am sure, when you remember that he is going to the field ofdanger--"

"How much money has he promised you, Briggs?" the old spinster criedout, working herself into a nervous rage--"there now, of course youbegin to cry. I hate scenes. Why am I always to be worried? Go andcry up in your own room, and send Firkin to me--no, stop, sit down andblow your nose, and leave off crying, and write a letter to CaptainCrawley." Poor Briggs went and placed herself obediently at thewriting-book. Its leaves were blotted all over with relics of thefirm, strong, rapid handwriting of the spinster's late amanuensis, Mrs.Bute Crawley.

"Begin 'My dear sir,' or 'Dear sir,' that will be better, and say youare desired by Miss Crawley--no, by Miss Crawley's medical man, by Mr.Creamer, to state that my health is such that all strong emotions wouldbe dangerous in my present delicate condition--and that I must declineany family discussions or interviews whatever. And thank him for comingto Brighton, and so forth, and beg him not to stay any longer on myaccount. And, Miss Briggs, you may add that I wish him a bon voyage,and that if he will take the trouble to call upon my lawyer's in Gray'sInn Square, he will find there a communication for him. Yes, that willdo; and that will make him leave Brighton." The benevolent Briggspenned this sentence with the utmost satisfaction.

"To seize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute was gone," the old ladyprattled on; "it was too indecent. Briggs, my dear, write to Mrs.Crawley, and say SHE needn't come back. No--she needn't--and sheshan't--and I won't be a slave in my own house--and I won't be starvedand choked with poison. They all want to kill me--all--all"--and withthis the lonely old woman burst into a scream of hysterical tears.

The last scene of her dismal Vanity Fair comedy was fast approaching;the tawdry lamps were going out one by one; and the dark curtain wasalmost ready to descend.

That final paragraph, which referred Rawdon to Miss Crawley's solicitorin London, and which Briggs had written so good-naturedly, consoled thedragoon and his wife somewhat, after their first blank disappointment,on reading the spinster's refusal of a reconciliation. And it effectedthe purpose for which the old lady had caused it to be written, bymaking Rawdon very eager to get to London.

Out of Jos's losings and George Osborne's bank-notes, he paid his billat the inn, the landlord whereof does not probably know to this day howdoubtfully his account once stood. For, as a general sends his baggageto the rear before an action, Rebecca had wisely packed up all theirchief valuables and sent them off under care of George's servant, whowent in charge of the trunks on the coach back to London. Rawdon andhis wife returned by the same conveyance next day.

"I should have liked to see the old girl before we went," Rawdon said."She looks so cut up and altered that I'm sure she can't last long. Iwonder what sort of a cheque I shall have at Waxy's. Two hundred--itcan't be less than two hundred--hey, Becky?"

In consequence of the repeated visits of the aides-de-camp of theSheriff of Middlesex, Rawdon and his wife did not go back to theirlodgings at Brompton, but put up at an inn. Early the next morning,Rebecca had an opportunity of seeing them as she skirted that suburb onher road to old Mrs. Sedley's house at Fulham, whither she went to lookfor her dear Amelia and her Brighton friends. They were all off toChatham, thence to Harwich, to take shipping for Belgium with theregiment--kind old Mrs. Sedley very much depressed and tearful,solitary. Returning from this visit, Rebecca found her husband, whohad been off to Gray's Inn, and learnt his fate. He came back furious.

"By Jove, Becky," says he, "she's only given me twenty pound!"

Though it told against themselves, the joke was too good, and Beckyburst out laughing at Rawdon's discomfiture.