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Whatever Becky's private plan might be by which Dobbin's true love wasto be crowned with success, the little woman thought that the secretmight keep, and indeed, being by no means so much interested aboutanybody's welfare as about her own, she had a great number of thingspertaining to herself to consider, and which concerned her a great dealmore than Major Dobbin's happiness in this life.

She found herself suddenly and unexpectedly in snug comfortablequarters, surrounded by friends, kindness, and good-natured simplepeople such as she had not met with for many a long day; and, wandereras she was by force and inclination, there were moments when rest waspleasant to her. As the most hardened Arab that ever careered acrossthe desert over the hump of a dromedary likes to repose sometimes underthe date-trees by the water, or to come into the cities, walk into thebazaars, refresh himself in the baths, and say his prayers in themosques, before he goes out again marauding, so Jos's tents and pilauwere pleasant to this little Ishmaelite. She picketed her steed, hungup her weapons, and warmed herself comfortably by his fire. The haltin that roving, restless life was inexpressibly soothing and pleasantto her.

So, pleased herself, she tried with all her might to please everybody;and we know that she was eminent and successful as a practitioner inthe art of giving pleasure. As for Jos, even in that little interviewin the garret at the Elephant Inn, she had found means to win back agreat deal of his good-will. In the course of a week, the civilian washer sworn slave and frantic admirer. He didn't go to sleep afterdinner, as his custom was in the much less lively society of Amelia.He drove out with Becky in his open carriage. He asked little partiesand invented festivities to do her honour.

Tapeworm, the Charge d'Affaires, who had abused her so cruelly, came todine with Jos, and then came every day to pay his respects to Becky.Poor Emmy, who was never very talkative, and more glum and silent thanever after Dobbin's departure, was quite forgotten when this superiorgenius made her appearance. The French Minister was as much charmedwith her as his English rival. The German ladies, never particularlysqueamish as regards morals, especially in English people, weredelighted with the cleverness and wit of Mrs. Osborne's charmingfriend, and though she did not ask to go to Court, yet the most augustand Transparent Personages there heard of her fascinations and werequite curious to know her. When it became known that she was noble, ofan ancient English family, that her husband was a Colonel of the Guard,Excellenz and Governor of an island, only separated from his lady byone of those trifling differences which are of little account in acountry where Werther is still read and the Wahlverwandtschaften ofGoethe is considered an edifying moral book, nobody thought of refusingto receive her in the very highest society of the little Duchy; and theladies were even more ready to call her du and to swear eternalfriendship for her than they had been to bestow the same inestimablebenefits upon Amelia. Love and Liberty are interpreted by those simpleGermans in a way which honest folks in Yorkshire and Somersetshirelittle understand, and a lady might, in some philosophic and civilizedtowns, be divorced ever so many times from her respective husbands andkeep her character in society. Jos's house never was so pleasant sincehe had a house of his own as Rebecca caused it to be. She sang, sheplayed, she laughed, she talked in two or three languages, she broughteverybody to the house, and she made Jos believe that it was his owngreat social talents and wit which gathered the society of the placeround about him.

As for Emmy, who found herself not in the least mistress of her ownhouse, except when the bills were to be paid, Becky soon discovered theway to soothe and please her. She talked to her perpetually aboutMajor Dobbin sent about his business, and made no scruple of declaringher admiration for that excellent, high-minded gentleman, and oftelling Emmy that she had behaved most cruelly regarding him. Emmydefended her conduct and showed that it was dictated only by the purestreligious principles; that a woman once, &c., and to such an angel ashim whom she had had the good fortune to marry, was married forever;but she had no objection to hear the Major praised as much as everBecky chose to praise him, and indeed, brought the conversation roundto the Dobbin subject a score of times every day.

Means were easily found to win the favour of Georgy and the servants.Amelia's maid, it has been said, was heart and soul in favour of thegenerous Major. Having at first disliked Becky for being the means ofdismissing him from the presence of her mistress, she was reconciled toMrs. Crawley subsequently, because the latter became William's mostardent admirer and champion. And in those nightly conclaves in whichthe two ladies indulged after their parties, and while Miss Payne was"brushing their 'airs," as she called the yellow locks of the one andthe soft brown tresses of the other, this girl always put in her wordfor that dear good gentleman Major Dobbin. Her advocacy did not makeAmelia angry any more than Rebecca's admiration of him. She madeGeorge write to him constantly and persisted in sending Mamma's kindlove in a postscript. And as she looked at her husband's portrait ofnights, it no longer reproached her--perhaps she reproached it, nowWilliam was gone.

Emmy was not very happy after her heroic sacrifice. She was verydistraite, nervous, silent, and ill to please. The family had neverknown her so peevish. She grew pale and ill. She used to try to singcertain songs ("Einsam bin ich nicht alleine," was one of them, thattender love-song of Weber's which in old-fashioned days, young ladies,and when you were scarcely born, showed that those who lived before youknew too how to love and to sing) certain songs, I say, to which theMajor was partial; and as she warbled them in the twilight in thedrawing-room, she would break off in the midst of the song, and walkinto her neighbouring apartment, and there, no doubt, take refuge inthe miniature of her husband.

Some books still subsisted, after Dobbin's departure, with his namewritten in them; a German dictionary, for instance, with "WilliamDobbin, --th Reg.," in the fly-leaf; a guide-book with his initials;and one or two other volumes which belonged to the Major. Emmy clearedthese away and put them on the drawers, where she placed her work-box,her desk, her Bible, and prayer-book, under the pictures of the twoGeorges. And the Major, on going away, having left his gloves behindhim, it is a fact that Georgy, rummaging his mother's desk some timeafterwards, found the gloves neatly folded up and put away in what theycall the secret-drawers of the desk.

Not caring for society, and moping there a great deal, Emmy's chiefpleasure in the summer evenings was to take long walks with Georgy(during which Rebecca was left to the society of Mr. Joseph), and thenthe mother and son used to talk about the Major in a way which evenmade the boy smile. She told him that she thought Major William wasthe best man in all the world--the gentlest and the kindest, thebravest and the humblest. Over and over again she told him how theyowed everything which they possessed in the world to that kind friend'sbenevolent care of them; how he had befriended them all through theirpoverty and misfortunes; watched over them when nobody cared for them;how all his comrades admired him though he never spoke of his owngallant actions; how Georgy's father trusted him beyond all other men,and had been constantly befriended by the good William. "Why, whenyour papa was a little boy," she said, "he often told me that it wasWilliam who defended him against a tyrant at the school where theywere; and their friendship never ceased from that day until the last,when your dear father fell."

"Did Dobbin kill the man who killed Papa?" Georgy said. "I'm sure hedid, or he would if he could have caught him, wouldn't he, Mother? WhenI'm in the Army, won't I hate the French?--that's all."

In such colloquies the mother and the child passed a great deal oftheir time together. The artless woman had made a confidant of theboy. He was as much William's friend as everybody else who knew himwell.

By the way, Mrs. Becky, not to be behind hand in sentiment, had got aminiature too hanging up in her room, to the surprise and amusement ofmost people, and the delight of the original, who was no other than ourfriend Jos. On her first coming to favour the Sedleys with a visit,the little woman, who had arrived with a remarkably small shabby kit,was perhaps ashamed of the meanness of her trunks and bandboxes, andoften spoke with great respect about her baggage left behind atLeipzig, which she must have from that city. When a traveller talks toyou perpetually about the splendour of his luggage, which he does nothappen to have with him, my son, beware of that traveller! He is, tento one, an impostor.

Neither Jos nor Emmy knew this important maxim. It seemed to them ofno consequence whether Becky had a quantity of very fine clothes ininvisible trunks; but as her present supply was exceedingly shabby,Emmy supplied her out of her own stores, or took her to the bestmilliner in the town and there fitted her out. It was no more torncollars now, I promise you, and faded silks trailing off at theshoulder. Becky changed her habits with her situation in life--therouge-pot was suspended--another excitement to which she had accustomedherself was also put aside, or at least only indulged in in privacy, aswhen she was prevailed on by Jos of a summer evening, Emmy and the boybeing absent on their walks, to take a little spirit-and-water. But ifshe did not indulge--the courier did: that rascal Kirsch could not bekept from the bottle, nor could he tell how much he took when heapplied to it. He was sometimes surprised himself at the way in whichMr. Sedley's Cognac diminished. Well, well, this is a painful subject.Becky did not very likely indulge so much as she used before sheentered a decorous family.

At last the much-bragged-about boxes arrived from Leipzig; three ofthem not by any means large or splendid; nor did Becky appear to takeout any sort of dresses or ornaments from the boxes when they didarrive. But out of one, which contained a mass of her papers (it wasthat very box which Rawdon Crawley had ransacked in his furious huntfor Becky's concealed money), she took a picture with great glee, whichshe pinned up in her room, and to which she introduced Jos. It was theportrait of a gentleman in pencil, his face having the advantage ofbeing painted up in pink. He was riding on an elephant away from somecocoa-nut trees and a pagoda: it was an Eastern scene.

"God bless my soul, it is my portrait," Jos cried out. It was heindeed, blooming in youth and beauty, in a nankeen jacket of the cut of1804. It was the old picture that used to hang up in Russell Square.

"I bought it," said Becky in a voice trembling with emotion; "I went tosee if I could be of any use to my kind friends. I have never partedwith that picture--I never will."

"Won't you?" Jos cried with a look of unutterable rapture andsatisfaction. "Did you really now value it for my sake?"

"You know I did, well enough," said Becky; "but why speak--whythink--why look back! It is too late now!"

That evening's conversation was delicious for Jos. Emmy only came in togo to bed very tired and unwell. Jos and his fair guest had a charmingtete-a-tete, and his sister could hear, as she lay awake in heradjoining chamber, Rebecca singing over to Jos the old songs of 1815.He did not sleep, for a wonder, that night, any more than Amelia.

It was June, and, by consequence, high season in London; Jos, who readthe incomparable Galignani (the exile's best friend) through every day,used to favour the ladies with extracts from his paper during theirbreakfast. Every week in this paper there is a full account ofmilitary movements, in which Jos, as a man who had seen service, wasespecially interested. On one occasion he read out--"Arrival of the--th regiment. Gravesend, June 20.--The Ramchunder, East Indiaman,came into the river this morning, having on board 14 officers, and 132rank and file of this gallant corps. They have been absent fromEngland fourteen years, having been embarked the year after Waterloo,in which glorious conflict they took an active part, and havingsubsequently distinguished themselves in the Burmese war. The veterancolonel, Sir Michael O'Dowd, K.C.B., with his lady and sister, landedhere yesterday, with Captains Posky, Stubble, Macraw, Malony;Lieutenants Smith, Jones, Thompson, F. Thomson; Ensigns Hicks andGrady; the band on the pier playing the national anthem, and the crowdloudly cheering the gallant veterans as they went into Wayte's hotel,where a sumptuous banquet was provided for the defenders of OldEngland. During the repast, which we need not say was served up inWayte's best style, the cheering continued so enthusiastically thatLady O'Dowd and the Colonel came forward to the balcony and drank thehealths of their fellow-countrymen in a bumper of Wayte's best claret."

On a second occasion Jos read a brief announcement--Major Dobbin hadjoined the --th regiment at Chatham; and subsequently he promulgatedaccounts of the presentations at the Drawing-room of Colonel SirMichael O'Dowd, K.C.B., Lady O'Dowd (by Mrs. Malloy Malony ofBallymalony), and Miss Glorvina O'Dowd (by Lady O'Dowd). Almostdirectly after this, Dobbin's name appeared among the Lieutenant-Colonels:for old Marshal Tiptoff had died during the passage of the--th from Madras, and the Sovereign was pleased to advance Colonel SirMichael O'Dowd to the rank of Major-General on his return to England,with an intimation that he should be Colonel of the distinguishedregiment which he had so long commanded.

Amelia had been made aware of some of these movements. Thecorrespondence between George and his guardian had not ceased by anymeans: William had even written once or twice to her since hisdeparture, but in a manner so unconstrainedly cold that the poor womanfelt now in her turn that she had lost her power over him and that, ashe had said, he was free. He had left her, and she was wretched. Thememory of his almost countless services, and lofty and affectionateregard, now presented itself to her and rebuked her day and night. Shebrooded over those recollections according to her wont, saw the purityand beauty of the affection with which she had trifled, and reproachedherself for having flung away such a treasure.

It was gone indeed. William had spent it all out. He loved her nomore, he thought, as he had loved her. He never could again. That sortof regard, which he had proffered to her for so many faithful years,can't be flung down and shattered and mended so as to show no scars.The little heedless tyrant had so destroyed it. No, William thoughtagain and again, "It was myself I deluded and persisted in cajoling;had she been worthy of the love I gave her, she would have returned itlong ago. It was a fond mistake. Isn't the whole course of life madeup of such? And suppose I had won her, should I not have beendisenchanted the day after my victory? Why pine, or be ashamed of mydefeat?" The more he thought of this long passage of his life, the moreclearly he saw his deception. "I'll go into harness again," he said,"and do my duty in that state of life in which it has pleased Heaven toplace me. I will see that the buttons of the recruits are properlybright and that the sergeants make no mistakes in their accounts. Iwill dine at mess and listen to the Scotch surgeon telling his stories.When I am old and broken, I will go on half-pay, and my old sistersshall scold me. I have geliebt und gelebet, as the girl in'Wallenstein' says. I am done. Pay the bills and get me a cigar:find out what there is at the play to-night, Francis; to-morrow wecross by the Batavier." He made the above speech, whereof Francis onlyheard the last two lines, pacing up and down the Boompjes at Rotterdam.The Batavier was lying in the basin. He could see the place on thequarter-deck where he and Emmy had sat on the happy voyage out. Whathad that little Mrs. Crawley to say to him? Psha; to-morrow we will putto sea, and return to England, home, and duty!

After June all the little Court Society of Pumpernickel used toseparate, according to the German plan, and make for a hundredwatering-places, where they drank at the wells, rode upon donkeys,gambled at the redoutes if they had money and a mind, rushed withhundreds of their kind to gourmandise at the tables d'hote, and idledaway the summer. The English diplomatists went off to Teoplitz andKissingen, their French rivals shut up their chancellerie and whiskedaway to their darling Boulevard de Gand. The Transparent reigningfamily took too to the waters, or retired to their hunting lodges.Everybody went away having any pretensions to politeness, and ofcourse, with them, Doctor von Glauber, the Court Doctor, and hisBaroness. The seasons for the baths were the most productive periodsof the Doctor's practice--he united business with pleasure, and hischief place of resort was Ostend, which is much frequented by Germans,and where the Doctor treated himself and his spouse to what he called a"dib" in the sea.

His interesting patient, Jos, was a regular milch-cow to the Doctor,and he easily persuaded the civilian, both for his own health's sakeand that of his charming sister, which was really very much shattered,to pass the summer at that hideous seaport town. Emmy did not carewhere she went much. Georgy jumped at the idea of a move. As forBecky, she came as a matter of course in the fourth place inside of thefine barouche Mr. Jos had bought, the two domestics being on the box infront. She might have some misgivings about the friends whom she shouldmeet at Ostend, and who might be likely to tell ugly stories--but bah!she was strong enough to hold her own. She had cast such an anchor inJos now as would require a strong storm to shake. That incident of thepicture had finished him. Becky took down her elephant and put it intothe little box which she had had from Amelia ever so many years ago.Emmy also came off with her Lares--her two pictures--and the party,finally, were, lodged in an exceedingly dear and uncomfortable house atOstend.

There Amelia began to take baths and get what good she could from them,and though scores of people of Becky's acquaintance passed her and cuther, yet Mrs. Osborne, who walked about with her, and who knew nobody,was not aware of the treatment experienced by the friend whom she hadchosen so judiciously as a companion; indeed, Becky never thought fitto tell her what was passing under her innocent eyes.

Some of Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's acquaintances, however, acknowledged herreadily enough,--perhaps more readily than she would have desired.Among those were Major Loder (unattached), and Captain Rook (late ofthe Rifles), who might be seen any day on the Dike, smoking and staringat the women, and who speedily got an introduction to the hospitableboard and select circle of Mr. Joseph Sedley. In fact they would takeno denial; they burst into the house whether Becky was at home or not,walked into Mrs. Osborne's drawing-room, which they perfumed with theircoats and mustachios, called Jos "Old buck," and invaded hisdinner-table, and laughed and drank for long hours there.

"What can they mean?" asked Georgy, who did not like these gentlemen."I heard the Major say to Mrs. Crawley yesterday, 'No, no, Becky, youshan't keep the old buck to yourself. We must have the bones in, or,dammy, I'll split.' What could the Major mean, Mamma?"

"Major! don't call him Major!" Emmy said. "I'm sure I can't tell whathe meant." His presence and that of his friend inspired the little ladywith intolerable terror and aversion. They paid her tipsy compliments;they leered at her over the dinner-table. And the Captain made heradvances that filled her with sickening dismay, nor would she ever seehim unless she had George by her side.

Rebecca, to do her justice, never would let either of these men remainalone with Amelia; the Major was disengaged too, and swore he would bethe winner of her. A couple of ruffians were fighting for this innocentcreature, gambling for her at her own table, and though she was notaware of the rascals' designs upon her, yet she felt a horror anduneasiness in their presence and longed to fly.

She besought, she entreated Jos to go. Not he. He was slow ofmovement, tied to his Doctor, and perhaps to some other leading-strings.At least Becky was not anxious to go to England.

At last she took a great resolution--made the great plunge. She wroteoff a letter to a friend whom she had on the other side of the water, aletter about which she did not speak a word to anybody, which shecarried herself to the post under her shawl; nor was any remark madeabout it, only that she looked very much flushed and agitated whenGeorgy met her, and she kissed him, and hung over him a great deal thatnight. She did not come out of her room after her return from herwalk. Becky thought it was Major Loder and the Captain who frightenedher.

"She mustn't stop here," Becky reasoned with herself. "She must goaway, the silly little fool. She is still whimpering after that gabyof a husband--dead (and served right!) these fifteen years. She shan'tmarry either of these men. It's too bad of Loder. No; she shall marrythe bamboo cane, I'll settle it this very night."

So Becky took a cup of tea to Amelia in her private apartment and foundthat lady in the company of her miniatures, and in a most melancholyand nervous condition. She laid down the cup of tea.

"Thank you," said Amelia.

"Listen to me, Amelia," said Becky, marching up and down the roombefore the other and surveying her with a sort of contemptuouskindness. "I want to talk to you. You must go away from here and fromthe impertinences of these men. I won't have you harassed by them:and they will insult you if you stay. I tell you they are rascals: menfit to send to the hulks. Never mind how I know them. I knoweverybody. Jos can't protect you; he is too weak and wants a protectorhimself. You are no more fit to live in the world than a baby in arms.You must marry, or you and your precious boy will go to ruin. You musthave a husband, you fool; and one of the best gentlemen I ever saw hasoffered you a hundred times, and you have rejected him, you silly,heartless, ungrateful little creature!"

"I tried--I tried my best, indeed I did, Rebecca," said Ameliadeprecatingly, "but I couldn't forget--"; and she finished the sentenceby looking up at the portrait.

"Couldn't forget HIM!" cried out Becky, "that selfish humbug, thatlow-bred cockney dandy, that padded booby, who had neither wit, normanners, nor heart, and was no more to be compared to your friend withthe bamboo cane than you are to Queen Elizabeth. Why, the man wasweary of you, and would have jilted you, but that Dobbin forced him tokeep his word. He owned it to me. He never cared for you. He used tosneer about you to me, time after time, and made love to me the weekafter he married you."

"It's false! It's false! Rebecca," cried out Amelia, starting up.

"Look there, you fool," Becky said, still with provoking good humour,and taking a little paper out of her belt, she opened it and flung itinto Emmy's lap. "You know his handwriting. He wrote that tome--wanted me to run away with him--gave it me under your nose, the daybefore he was shot--and served him right!" Becky repeated.

Emmy did not hear her; she was looking at the letter. It was that whichGeorge had put into the bouquet and given to Becky on the night of theDuchess of Richmond's ball. It was as she said: the foolish young manhad asked her to fly.

Emmy's head sank down, and for almost the last time in which she shallbe called upon to weep in this history, she commenced that work. Herhead fell to her bosom, and her hands went up to her eyes; and therefor a while, she gave way to her emotions, as Becky stood on andregarded her. Who shall analyse those tears and say whether they weresweet or bitter? Was she most grieved because the idol of her life wastumbled down and shivered at her feet, or indignant that her love hadbeen so despised, or glad because the barrier was removed which modestyhad placed between her and a new, a real affection? "There is nothingto forbid me now," she thought. "I may love him with all my heart now.Oh, I will, I will, if he will but let me and forgive me." I believe itwas this feeling rushed over all the others which agitated that gentlelittle bosom.

Indeed, she did not cry so much as Becky expected--the other soothedand kissed her--a rare mark of sympathy with Mrs. Becky. She treatedEmmy like a child and patted her head. "And now let us get pen and inkand write to him to come this minute," she said.

"I--I wrote to him this morning," Emmy said, blushing exceedingly.Becky screamed with laughter--"Un biglietto," she sang out with Rosina,"eccolo qua!"--the whole house echoed with her shrill singing.

Two mornings after this little scene, although the day was rainy andgusty, and Amelia had had an exceedingly wakeful night, listening tothe wind roaring, and pitying all travellers by land and by water, yetshe got up early and insisted upon taking a walk on the Dike withGeorgy; and there she paced as the rain beat into her face, and shelooked out westward across the dark sea line and over the swollenbillows which came tumbling and frothing to the shore. Neither spokemuch, except now and then, when the boy said a few words to his timidcompanion, indicative of sympathy and protection.

"I hope he won't cross in such weather," Emmy said.

"I bet ten to one he does," the boy answered. "Look, Mother, there'sthe smoke of the steamer." It was that signal, sure enough.

But though the steamer was under way, he might not be on board; hemight not have got the letter; he might not choose to come. A hundredfears poured one over the other into the little heart, as fast as thewaves on to the Dike.

The boat followed the smoke into sight. Georgy had a dandy telescopeand got the vessel under view in the most skilful manner. And he madeappropriate nautical comments upon the manner of the approach of thesteamer as she came nearer and nearer, dipping and rising in the water.The signal of an English steamer in sight went fluttering up to themast on the pier. I daresay Mrs. Amelia's heart was in a similarflutter.

Emmy tried to look through the telescope over George's shoulder, butshe could make nothing of it. She only saw a black eclipse bobbing upand down before her eyes.

George took the glass again and raked the vessel. "How she does pitch!"he said. "There goes a wave slap over her bows. There's only twopeople on deck besides the steersman. There's a man lying down, anda--chap in a--cloak with a--Hooray!--it's Dob, by Jingo!" He clapped tothe telescope and flung his arms round his mother. As for that lady,let us say what she did in the words of a favourite poet--"Dakruoengelasasa." She was sure it was William. It could be no other. Whatshe had said about hoping that he would not come was all hypocrisy. Ofcourse he would come; what could he do else but come? She knew he wouldcome.

The ship came swiftly nearer and nearer. As they went in to meet herat the landing-place at the quay, Emmy's knees trembled so that shescarcely could run. She would have liked to kneel down and say herprayers of thanks there. Oh, she thought, she would be all her lifesaying them!

It was such a bad day that as the vessel came alongside of the quaythere were no idlers abroad, scarcely even a commissioner on the lookout for the few passengers in the steamer. That young scapegraceGeorge had fled too, and as the gentleman in the old cloak lined withred stuff stepped on to the shore, there was scarcely any one presentto see what took place, which was briefly this:

A lady in a dripping white bonnet and shawl, with her two little handsout before her, went up to him, and in the next minute she hadaltogether disappeared under the folds of the old cloak, and waskissing one of his hands with all her might; whilst the other, Isuppose, was engaged in holding her to his heart (which her head justabout reached) and in preventing her from tumbling down. She wasmurmuring something about--forgive--dear William--dear, dear, dearestfriend--kiss, kiss, kiss, and so forth--and in fact went on under thecloak in an absurd manner.

When Emmy emerged from it, she still kept tight hold of one ofWilliam's hands, and looked up in his face. It was full of sadness andtender love and pity. She understood its reproach and hung down herhead.

"It was time you sent for me, dear Amelia," he said.

"You will never go again, William?"

"No, never," he answered, and pressed the dear little soul once more tohis heart.

As they issued out of the custom-house precincts, Georgy broke out onthem, with his telescope up to his eye, and a loud laugh of welcome; hedanced round the couple and performed many facetious antics as he ledthem up to the house. Jos wasn't up yet; Becky not visible (though shelooked at them through the blinds). Georgy ran off to see aboutbreakfast. Emmy, whose shawl and bonnet were off in the passage in thehands of Mrs. Payne, now went to undo the clasp of William's cloak,and--we will, if you please, go with George, and look after breakfastfor the Colonel. The vessel is in port. He has got the prize he hasbeen trying for all his life. The bird has come in at last. There itis with its head on his shoulder, billing and cooing close up to hisheart, with soft outstretched fluttering wings. This is what he hasasked for every day and hour for eighteen years. This is what he pinedafter. Here it is--the summit, the end--the last page of the thirdvolume. Good-bye, Colonel--God bless you, honest William!--Farewell,dear Amelia--Grow green again, tender little parasite, round the ruggedold oak to which you cling!

Perhaps it was compunction towards the kind and simple creature, whohad been the first in life to defend her, perhaps it was a dislike toall such sentimental scenes--but Rebecca, satisfied with her part inthe transaction, never presented herself before Colonel Dobbin and thelady whom he married. "Particular business," she said, took her toBruges, whither she went, and only Georgy and his uncle were present atthe marriage ceremony. When it was over, and Georgy had rejoined hisparents, Mrs. Becky returned (just for a few days) to comfort thesolitary bachelor, Joseph Sedley. He preferred a continental life, hesaid, and declined to join in housekeeping with his sister and herhusband.

Emmy was very glad in her heart to think that she had written to herhusband before she read or knew of that letter of George's. "I knew itall along," William said; "but could I use that weapon against the poorfellow's memory? It was that which made me suffer so when you--"

"Never speak of that day again," Emmy cried out, so contrite and humblethat William turned off the conversation by his account of Glorvina anddear old Peggy O'Dowd, with whom he was sitting when the letter ofrecall reached him. "If you hadn't sent for me," he added with alaugh, "who knows what Glorvina's name might be now?"

At present it is Glorvina Posky (now Mrs. Major Posky); she took him onthe death of his first wife, having resolved never to marry out of theregiment. Lady O'Dowd is also so attached to it that, she says, ifanything were to happen to Mick, bedad she'd come back and marry someof 'em. But the Major-General is quite well and lives in greatsplendour at O'Dowdstown, with a pack of beagles, and (with theexception of perhaps their neighbour, Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty) heis the first man of his county. Her Ladyship still dances jigs, andinsisted on standing up with the Master of the Horse at the LordLieutenant's last ball. Both she and Glorvina declared that Dobbin hadused the latter SHEAMFULLY, but Posky falling in, Glorvina wasconsoled, and a beautiful turban from Paris appeased the wrath of LadyO'Dowd.

When Colonel Dobbin quitted the service, which he did immediately afterhis marriage, he rented a pretty little country place in Hampshire, notfar from Queen's Crawley, where, after the passing of the Reform Bill,Sir Pitt and his family constantly resided now. All idea of a Peeragewas out of the question, the Baronet's two seats in Parliament beinglost. He was both out of pocket and out of spirits by thatcatastrophe, failed in his health, and prophesied the speedy ruin ofthe Empire.

Lady Jane and Mrs. Dobbin became great friends--there was a perpetualcrossing of pony-chaises between the Hall and the Evergreens, theColonel's place (rented of his friend Major Ponto, who was abroad withhis family). Her Ladyship was godmother to Mrs. Dobbin's child, whichbore her name, and was christened by the Rev. James Crawley, whosucceeded his father in the living: and a pretty close friendshipsubsisted between the two lads, George and Rawdon, who hunted and shottogether in the vacations, were both entered of the same college atCambridge, and quarrelled with each other about Lady Jane's daughter,with whom they were both, of course, in love. A match between Georgeand that young lady was long a favourite scheme of both the matrons,though I have heard that Miss Crawley herself inclined towards hercousin.

Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's name was never mentioned by either family. Therewere reasons why all should be silent regarding her. For wherever Mr.Joseph Sedley went, she travelled likewise, and that infatuated manseemed to be entirely her slave. The Colonel's lawyers informed himthat his brother-in-law had effected a heavy insurance upon his life,whence it was probable that he had been raising money to dischargedebts. He procured prolonged leave of absence from the East IndiaHouse, and indeed, his infirmities were daily increasing.

On hearing the news about the insurance, Amelia, in a good deal ofalarm, entreated her husband to go to Brussels, where Jos then was, andinquire into the state of his affairs. The Colonel quitted home withreluctance (for he was deeply immersed in his History of the Punjaubwhich still occupies him, and much alarmed about his little daughter,whom he idolizes, and who was just recovering from the chicken-pox) andwent to Brussels and found Jos living at one of the enormous hotels inthat city. Mrs. Crawley, who had her carriage, gave entertainments,and lived in a very genteel manner, occupied another suite ofapartments in the same hotel.

The Colonel, of course, did not desire to see that lady, or even thinkproper to notify his arrival at Brussels, except privately to Jos by amessage through his valet. Jos begged the Colonel to come and see himthat night, when Mrs. Crawley would be at a soiree, and when they couldmeet alone. He found his brother-in-law in a condition of pitiableinfirmity--and dreadfully afraid of Rebecca, though eager in hispraises of her. She tended him through a series of unheard-ofillnesses with a fidelity most admirable. She had been a daughter tohim. "But--but--oh, for God's sake, do come and live near me,and--and--see me sometimes," whimpered out the unfortunate man.

The Colonel's brow darkened at this. "We can't, Jos," he said."Considering the circumstances, Amelia can't visit you."

"I swear to you--I swear to you on the Bible," gasped out Joseph,wanting to kiss the book, "that she is as innocent as a child, asspotless as your own wife."

"It may be so," said the Colonel gloomily, "but Emmy can't come to you.Be a man, Jos: break off this disreputable connection. Come home toyour family. We hear your affairs are involved."

"Involved!" cried Jos. "Who has told such calumnies? All my money isplaced out most advantageously. Mrs. Crawley--that is--I mean--it islaid out to the best interest."

"You are not in debt, then? Why did you insure your life?"

"I thought--a little present to her--in case anything happened; and youknow my health is so delicate--common gratitude you know--and I intendto leave all my money to you--and I can spare it out of my income,indeed I can," cried out William's weak brother-in-law.

The Colonel besought Jos to fly at once--to go back to India, whitherMrs. Crawley could not follow him; to do anything to break off aconnection which might have the most fatal consequences to him.

Jos clasped his hands and cried, "He would go back to India. He woulddo anything, only he must have time: they mustn't say anything to Mrs.Crawley--she'd--she'd kill me if she knew it. You don't know what aterrible woman she is," the poor wretch said.

"Then, why not come away with me?" said Dobbin in reply; but Jos hadnot the courage. "He would see Dobbin again in the morning; he must onno account say that he had been there. He must go now. Becky mightcome in." And Dobbin quitted him, full of forebodings.

He never saw Jos more. Three months afterwards Joseph Sedley died atAix-la-Chapelle. It was found that all his property had been muddledaway in speculations, and was represented by valueless shares indifferent bubble companies. All his available assets were the twothousand pounds for which his life was insured, and which were leftequally between his beloved "sister Amelia, wife of, &c., and hisfriend and invaluable attendant during sickness, Rebecca, wife ofLieutenant-Colonel Rawdon Crawley, C.B.," who was appointedadministratrix.

The solicitor of the insurance company swore it was the blackest casethat ever had come before him, talked of sending a commission to Aix toexamine into the death, and the Company refused payment of the policy.But Mrs., or Lady Crawley, as she styled herself, came to town at once(attended with her solicitors, Messrs. Burke, Thurtell, and Hayes, ofThavies Inn) and dared the Company to refuse the payment. They invitedexamination, they declared that she was the object of an infamousconspiracy, which had been pursuing her all through life, and triumphedfinally. The money was paid, and her character established, butColonel Dobbin sent back his share of the legacy to the insuranceoffice and rigidly declined to hold any communication with Rebecca.

She never was Lady Crawley, though she continued so to call herself.His Excellency Colonel Rawdon Crawley died of yellow fever at CoventryIsland, most deeply beloved and deplored, and six weeks before thedemise of his brother, Sir Pitt. The estate consequently devolved uponthe present Sir Rawdon Crawley, Bart.

He, too, has declined to see his mother, to whom he makes a liberalallowance, and who, besides, appears to be very wealthy. The Baronetlives entirely at Queen's Crawley, with Lady Jane and her daughter,whilst Rebecca, Lady Crawley, chiefly hangs about Bath and Cheltenham,where a very strong party of excellent people consider her to be a mostinjured woman. She has her enemies. Who has not? Her life is heranswer to them. She busies herself in works of piety. She goes tochurch, and never without a footman. Her name is in all the CharityLists. The destitute orange-girl, the neglected washerwoman, thedistressed muffin-man find in her a fast and generous friend. She isalways having stalls at Fancy Fairs for the benefit of these haplessbeings. Emmy, her children, and the Colonel, coming to London sometime back, found themselves suddenly before her at one of these fairs.She cast down her eyes demurely and smiled as they started away fromher; Emmy scurrying off on the arm of George (now grown a dashing younggentleman) and the Colonel seizing up his little Janey, of whom he isfonder than of anything in the world--fonder even than of his Historyof the Punjaub.

"Fonder than he is of me," Emmy thinks with a sigh. But he never said aword to Amelia that was not kind and gentle, or thought of a want ofhers that he did not try to gratify.

Ah! Vanitas Vanitatum! which of us is happy in this world? Which ofus has his desire? or, having it, is satisfied?--come, children, let usshut up the box and the puppets, for our play is played out.