Chapter LXVII: Which Contains Births, Marriages, and Deaths

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　Whatever Becky's private plan might be by whichDobbin's true love was to be crowned with success, thelittle woman thought that the secret might keep, andindeed, being by no means so much interested aboutanybody's welfare as about her own, she had a greatnumber of things pertaining to herself to consider, andwhich concerned her a great deal more than MajorDobbin's happiness in this life.

　　She found herself suddenly and unexpectedly in snugcomfortable quarters, surrounded by friends, kindness,and good-natured simple people such as she had not metwith for many a long day; and, wanderer as she was byforce and inclination, there were moments when restwas pleasant to her. As the most hardened Arab thatever careered across the desert over the hump of adromedary likes to repose sometimes under the date-trees by the water, or to come into the cities, walk intothe bazaars, refresh himself in the baths, and say hisprayers in the mosques, before he goes out againmarauding, so Jos's tents and pilau were pleasant to thislittle Ishmaelite. She picketed her steed, hung up herweapons, and warmed herself comfortably by his fire. Thehalt in that roving, restless life was inexpressibly soothingand pleasant to her.

　　So, pleased herself, she tried with all her might toplease everybody; and we know that she was eminentand successful as a practitioner in the art of givingpleasure. As for Jos, even in that little interview in thegarret at the Elephant Inn, she had found means to winback a great deal of his good-will. In the course of aweek, the civilian was her sworn slave and franticadmirer. He didn't go to sleep after dinner, as hiscustom was in the much less lively society of Amelia. Hedrove out with Becky in his open carriage. He asked littleparties and invented festivities to do her honour.

　　Tapeworm, the Charge d'Affaires, who had abused herso cruelly, came to dine with Jos, and then came everyday to pay his respects to Becky. Poor Emmy, who wasnever very talkative, and more glum and silent than everafter Dobbin's departure, was quite forgotten when thissuperior genius made her appearance. The FrenchMinister was as much charmed with her as his English rival.The German ladies, never particularly squeamish asregards morals, especially in English people, were delightedwith the cleverness and wit of Mrs. Osborne's charmingfriend, and though she did not ask to go to Court,yet the most august and Transparent Personages thereheard of her fascinations and were quite curious to knowher. When it became known that she was noble, of anancient English family, that her husband was a Colonelof the Guard, Excellenz and Governor of an island, onlyseparated from his lady by one of those trifling differenceswhich are of little account in a country whereWerther is still read and the Wahlverwandtschaften ofGoethe is considered an edifying moral book, nobodythought of refusing to receive her in the very highestsociety of the little Duchy; and the ladies were even moreready to call her du and to swear eternal friendship forher than they had been to bestow the same inestimablebenefits upon Amelia. Love and Liberty are interpretedby those simple Germans in a way which honest folks inYorkshire and Somersetshire little understand, and a ladymight, in some philosophic and civilized towns, bedivorced ever so many times from her respective husbandsand keep her character in society. Jos's house never wasso pleasant since he had a house of his own as Rebeccacaused it to be. She sang, she played, she laughed, shetalked in two or three languages, she brought everybodyto the house, and she made Jos believe that it was hisown great social talents and wit which gathered thesociety of the place round about him.

　　As for Emmy, who found herself not in the leastmistress of her own house, except when the bills wereto be paid, Becky soon discovered the way to soothe andplease her. She talked to her perpetually about MajorDobbin sent about his business, and made no scrupleof declaring her admiration for that excellent, high-minded gentleman, and of telling Emmy that she hadbehaved most cruelly regarding him. Emmy defended herconduct and showed that it was dictated only by thepurest religious principles; that a woman once, &c., and tosuch an angel as him whom she had had the goodfortune to marry, was married forever; but she had noobjection to hear the Major praised as much as everBecky chose to praise him, and indeed, brought theconversation round to the Dobbin subject a score of timesevery day.

　　Means were easily found to win the favour of Georgyand the servants. Amelia's maid, it has been said, washeart and soul in favour of the generous Major. Having atfirst disliked Becky for being the means of dismissinghim from the presence of her mistress, she was reconciledto Mrs. Crawley subsequently, because the latterbecame William's most ardent admirer and champion. Andin those nightly conclaves in which the two ladiesindulged after their parties, and while Miss Payne was"brushing their 'airs," as she called the yellow locks ofthe one and the soft brown tresses of the other, thisgirl always put in her word for that dear good gentlemanMajor Dobbin. Her advocacy did not make Ameliaangry any more than Rebecca's admiration of him. Shemade George write to him constantly and persisted insending Mamma's kind love in a postscript. And as shelooked at her husband's portrait of nights, it no longerreproached her--perhaps she reproached it, nowWilliam was gone.

　　Emmy was not very happy after her heroic sacrifice.She was very distraite, nervous, silent, and ill to please.The family had never known her so peevish. She grewpale and ill. She used to try to sing certain songs("Einsam bin ich nicht alleine," was one of them, that tenderlove-song of Weber's which~ in old-fashioned days,young ladies, and when you were scarcely born, showedthat those who lived before you knew too how to loveand to sing) certain songs, I say, to which the Majorwas partial; and as she warbled them in the twilight in thedrawing-room, she would break off in the midst of thesong, and walk into her neighbouring apartment, andthere, no doubt, take refuge in the miniature of herhusband.

　　Some books still subsisted, after Dobbin's departure,with his name written in them; a German dictionary, forinstance, with "William Dobbin, --th Reg.," in the fly-leaf;a guide-book with his initials; and one or two othervolumes which belonged to the Major. Emmy cleared theseaway and put them on the drawers, where she placed herwork-box, her desk, her Bible, and prayer-book, underthe pictures of the two Georges. And the Major, on goingaway, having left his gloves behind him, it is a fact thatGeorgy, rummaging his mother's desk some timeafterwards, found the gloves neatly folded up and put away inwhat they call the secret-drawers of the desk.

　　Not caring for society, and moping there a great deal,Emmy's chief pleasure in the summer evenings was totake long walks with Georgy (during which Rebeccawas left to the society of Mr. Joseph), and then themother and son used to talk about the Major in a waywhich even made the boy smile. She told him that shethought Major William was the best man in all the world--the gentlest and the kindest, the bravest and thehumblest. Over and over again she told him how they owedeverything which they possessed in the world to thatkind friend's benevolent care of them; how he hadbefriended them all through their poverty and misfortunes;watched over them when nobody cared for them; how allhis comrades admired him though he never spoke of hisown gallant actions; how Georgy's father trusted himbeyond all other men, and had been constantly befriendedby the good William. "Why, when your papa was a littleboy," she said, "he often told me that it was Williamwho defended him against a tyrant at the school wherethey were; and their friendship never ceased from thatday until the last, when your dear father fell."

　　"Did Dobbin kill the man who killed Papa?" Georgysaid. "I'm sure he did, or he would if he could havecaught him, wouldn't he, Mother? When I'm in the Army,won't I hate the French?--that's all."

　　In such colloquies the mother and the child passed agreat deal of their time together. The artless woman hadmade a confidant of the boy. He was as much William'sfriend as everybody else who knew him well.

　　By the way, Mrs. Becky, not to be behind hand insentiment, had got a miniature too hanging up in herroom, to the surprise and amusement of most people,and the delight of the original, who was no other thanour friend Jos. On her first coming to favour the Sedleyswith a visit, the little woman, who had arrived with aremarkably small shabby kit, was perhaps ashamed of themeanness of her trunks and bandboxes, and often spokewith great respect about her baggage left behind atLeipzig, which she must have from that city. When a travellertalks to you perpetually about the splendour of hisluggage, which he does not happen to have with him, myson, beware of that traveller! He is, ten to one, animpostor.

　　Neither Jos nor Emmy knew this important maxim. Itseemed to them of no consequence whether Becky had aquantity of very fine clothes in invisible trunks; butas her present supply was exceedingly shabby, Emmysupplied her out of her own stores, or took her to thebest milliner in the town and there fitted her out. It wasno more torn collars now, I promise you, and faded silkstrailing off at the shoulder. Becky changed her habitswith her situation in life--the rouge-pot was suspended--another excitement to which she had accustomedherself was also put aside, or at least only indulged in inprivacy, as when she was prevailed on by Jos of asummer evening, Emmy and the boy being absent on theirwalks, to take a little spirit-and-water. But if she did notindulge--the courier did: that rascal Kirsch could notbe kept from the bottle, nor could he tell how muchhe took when he applied to it. He was sometimessurprised himself at the way in which Mr. Sedley's Cognacdiminished. Well, well, this is a painful subject. Beckydid not very likely indulge so much as she used beforeshe entered a decorous family.

　　At last the much-bragged-about boxes arrived fromLeipzig; three of them not by any means large or splendid;nor did Becky appear to take out any sort of dressesor ornaments from the boxes when they did arrive. Butout of one, which contained a mass of her papers (itwas that very box which Rawdon Crawley hadransacked in his furious hunt for Becky's concealed money),she took a picture with great glee, which she pinned upin her room, and to which she introduced Jos. It wasthe portrait of a gentleman in pencil, his face having theadvantage of being painted up in pink. He was ridingon an elephant away from some cocoa-nut trees and apagoda: it was an Eastern scene.

　　"God bless my soul, it is my portrait," Jos cried out.It was he indeed, blooming in youth and beauty, in anankeen jacket of the cut of 1804. It was the old picturethat used to hang up in Russell Square.

　　"I bought 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't you?" Jos cried with a look of unutterablerapture and satisfaction. "Did you really now value itfor my sake?"

　　"You know I did, well enough," said Becky; "butwhy speak--why think--why look back! It is too latenow!"

　　That evening's conversation was delicious for Jos.Emmy only came in to go to bed very tired and unwell.Jos and his fair guest had a charming tete-a-tete, andhis sister could hear, as she lay awake in her adjoiningchamber, Rebecca singing over to Jos the old songs of1815. He did not sleep, for a wonder, that night, anymore than Amelia.

　　It was June, and, by consequence, high season inLondon; Jos, who read the incomparable Galignani (theexile's best friend) through every day, used to favour theladies 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 hadseen service, was especially interested. On one occasionhe read out--"Arrival of the --th regiment. Gravesend,June 20.--The Ramchunder, East Indiaman, came into theriver this morning, having on board 14 officers, and 132rank and file of this gallant corps. They have beenabsent from England fourteen years, having been embarkedthe year after Waterloo, in which glorious conflict theytook an active part, and having subsequently distinguishedthemselves in the Burmese war. The veteran colonel, SirMichael 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 and Grady; the band on the pierplaying the national anthem, and the crowd loudly cheeringthe gallant veterans as they went into Wayte's hotel,where a sumptuous banquet was provided for the defendersof Old England. During the repast, which we need notsay was served up in Wayte's best style, the cheeringcontinued so enthusiastically that Lady O'Dowd and theColonel came forward to the balcony and drank thehealths of their fellow-countrymen in a bumper of Wayte'sbest claret."

　　On a second occasion Jos read a brief announcement--Major Dobbin had joined the --th regiment at Chatham;and subsequently he promulgated accounts of thepresentations at the Drawing-room of Colonel SirMichael O'Dowd, K.C.B., Lady O'Dowd (by Mrs. MalloyMalony of Ballymalony), and Miss Glorvina O'Dowd (byLady O'Dowd). Almost directly after this, Dobbin's nameappeared among the Lieutenant-Colonels: for old MarshalTiptoff had died during the passage of the --th fromMadras, and the Sovereign was pleased to advanceColonel Sir Michael O'Dowd to the rank of Major-General onhis return to England, with an intimation that he shouldbe Colonel of the distinguished regiment which he had solong commanded.

　　Amelia had been made aware of some of thesemovements. The correspondence between George and hisguardian had not ceased by any means: William had evenwritten once or twice to her since his departure, but in amanner so unconstrainedly cold that the poor woman feltnow in her turn that she had lost her power over himand that, as he had said, he was free. He had left her,and she was wretched. The memory of his almost countlessservices, and lofty and affectionate regard, nowpresented itself to her and rebuked her day and night. Shebrooded over those recollections according to her wont,saw the purity and beauty of the affection with which shehad trifled, and reproached herself for having flung awaysuch a treasure.

　　It was gone indeed. William had spent it all out. Heloved her no more, he thought, as he had loved her.He never could again. That sort of regard, which he hadproffered to her for so many faithful years, can't be flungdown and shattered and mended so as to show no scars.The little heedless tyrant had so destroyed it. No, Williamthought again and again, "It was myself I deludedand persisted in cajoling; had she been worthy of thelove I gave her, she would have returned it long ago. Itwas a fond mistake. Isn't the whole course of life madeup of such? And suppose I had won her, should I nothave been disenchanted the day after my victory? Whypine, or be ashamed of my defeat?" The more he thoughtof this long passage of his life, the more clearly he sawhis deception. "I'll go into harness again," he said, "anddo my duty in that state of life in which it has pleasedHeaven to place me. I will see that the buttons of therecruits are properly bright and that the sergeants makeno mistakes in their accounts. I will dine at mess andlisten to the Scotch surgeon telling his stories. When Iam old and broken, I will go on half-pay, and my oldsisters shall scold me. I have geliebt und gelebet, as thegirl in 'Wallenstein' says. I am done. Pay the bills and getme a cigar: find out what there is at the play to-night,Francis; to-morrow we cross by the Batavier." He madethe above speech, whereof Francis only heard the lasttwo lines, pacing up and down the Boompjes at Rotterdam.The Batavier was lying in the basin. He could seethe place on the quarter-deck where he and Emmy hadsat on the happy voyage out. What had that little Mrs.Crawley to say to him? Psha; to-morrow we will put tosea, and return to England, home, and duty!

　　After June all the little Court Society of Pumpernickelused to separate, according to the German plan,and make for a hundred watering-places, where theydrank at the wells, rode upon donkeys, gambled at theredoutes if they had money and a mind, rushed withhundreds of their kind to gourmandise at the tablesd'hote, and idled away the summer. The Englishdiplomatists went off to Teoplitz and Kissingen, their Frenchrivals shut up their chancellerie and whisked away totheir darling Boulevard de Gand. The Transparent reigningfamily took too to the waters, or retired to their huntinglodges. Everybody went away having any pretensionsto politeness, and of course, with them, Doctor vonGlauber, the Court Doctor, and his Baroness. The seasonsfor the baths were the most productive periods ofthe Doctor's practice--he united business with pleasure,and his chief place of resort was Ostend, which is muchfrequented by Germans, and where the Doctor treatedhimself and his spouse to what he called a "dib" in thesea.

　　His interesting patient, Jos, was a regular milch-cowto the Doctor, and he easily persuaded the civilian, bothfor his own health's sake and that of his charmingsister, which was really very much shattered, to pass thesummer at that hideous seaport town. Emmy did notcare where she went much. Georgy jumped at the ideaof a move. As for Becky, she came as a matter of coursein the fourth place inside of the fine barouche Mr. Joshad bought, the two domestics being on the box in front.She might have some misgivings about the friends whomshe should meet at Ostend, and who might be likely to tellugly stories--but bah! she was strong enough to holdher own. She had cast such an anchor in Jos now aswould require a strong storm to shake. That incidentof the picture had finished him. Becky took downher elephant and put it into the little box which she hadhad from Amelia ever so many years ago. Emmy alsocame off with her Lares--her two pictures--and theparty, finally, were, lodged in an exceedingly dear anduncomfortable house at Ostend.

　　There Amelia began to take baths and get what goodshe could from them, and though scores of people ofBecky's acquaintance passed her and cut her, yet Mrs.Osborne, who walked about with her, and who knewnobody, was not aware of the treatment experienced by thefriend whom she had chosen so judiciously as acompanion; indeed, Becky never thought fit to tell her whatwas passing under her innocent eyes.

　　Some of Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's acquaintances, however, acknowledged her readily enough,--perhaps morereadily than she would have desired. Among those wereMajor Loder (unattached), and Captain Rook (late ofthe Rifles), who might be seen any day on the Dike,smoking and staring at the women, and who speedily gotan introduction to the hospitable board and select circleof Mr. Joseph Sedley. In fact they would take no denial;they burst into the house whether Becky was at homeor not, walked into Mrs. Osborne's drawing-room, whichthey perfumed with their coats and mustachios, calledJos "Old buck," and invaded his dinner-table, andlaughed and drank for long hours there.

　　"What can they mean?" asked Georgy, who did notlike these gentlemen. "I heard the Major say to Mrs.Crawley yesterday, 'No, no, Becky, you shan't keep theold 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 sureI can't tell what he meant." His presence and that of hisfriend inspired the little lady with intolerable terror andaversion. They paid her tipsy compliments; they leeredat her over the dinner-table. And the Captain made heradvances that filled her with sickening dismay, nor wouldshe ever see him unless she had George by her side.

　　Rebecca, to do her justice, never would let either ofthese men remain alone with Amelia; the Major wasdisengaged too, and swore he would be the winner of her.A couple of ruffians were fighting for this innocent creature, gambling for her at her own table, and though shewas not aware of the rascals' designs upon her, yet shefelt a horror and uneasiness in their presence and longedto fly.

　　She besought, she entreated Jos to go. Not he. He wasslow of movement, tied to his Doctor, and perhaps tosome other leading-strings. At least Becky was notanxious to go to England.

　　At last she took a great resolution--made the greatplunge. She wrote off a letter to a friend whom she hadon the other side of the water, a letter about which shedid not speak a word to anybody, which she carriedherself to the post under her shawl; nor was any remarkmade about it, only that she looked very much flushedand agitated when Georgy met her, and she kissed him,and hung over him a great deal that night. She did notcome out of her room after her return from her walk.Becky thought it was Major Loder and the Captain whofrightened her.

　　"She mustn't stop here," Becky reasoned with herself."She must go away, the silly little fool. She is stillwhimpering after that gaby of a husband--dead (andserved right!) these fifteen years. She shan't marry eitherof 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 privateapartment and found that lady in the company of herminiatures, and in a most melancholy and nervouscondition. She laid down the cup of tea.

　　"Thank you," said Amelia.

　　"Listen to me, Amelia," said Becky, marching up anddown the room before the other and surveying her witha sort of contemptuous kindness. "I want to talk to you.You must go away from here and from the impertinencesof these men. I won't have you harassed by them: andthey will insult you if you stay. I tell you they are rascals:men fit to send to the hulks. Never mind how I knowthem. I know everybody. Jos can't protect you; he is tooweak and wants a protector himself. You are no more fitto 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 gentlemenI ever saw has offered you a hundred times, and you haverejected him, you silly, heartless, ungrateful littlecreature!"

　　"I tried--I tried my best, indeed I did, Rebecca," saidAmelia deprecatingly, "but I couldn't forget--"; and shefinished the sentence by looking up at the portrait.

　　"Couldn't forget him!" cried out Becky, "that selfishhumbug, that low-bred cockney dandy, that paddedbooby, who had neither wit, nor manners, nor heart, andwas no more to be compared to your friend with thebamboo cane than you are to Queen Elizabeth. Why,the man was weary of you, and would have jilted you, butthat Dobbin forced him to keep his word. He owned itto me. He never cared for you. He used to sneer aboutyou to me, time after time, and made love to me theweek after he married you."

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

　　"Look there, you fool," Becky said, still with provokinggood humour, and taking a little paper out of herbelt, she opened it and flung it into Emmy's lap. "Youknow his handwriting. He wrote that to me--wanted meto run away with him--gave it me under your nose, theday before he was shot--and served him right!" Beckyrepeated.

　　Emmy did not hear her; she was looking at the letter.It was that which George had put into the bouquet andgiven to Becky on the night of the Duchess of Richmond'sball. It was as she said: the foolish young manhad asked her to fly.

　　Emmy's head sank down, and for almost the last timein which she shall be called upon to weep in this history,she commenced that work. Her head fell to her bosom, andher hands went up to her eyes; and there for a while, shegave way to her emotions, as Becky stood on andregarded her. Who shall analyse those tears and saywhether they were sweet or bitter? Was she most grievedbecause the idol of her life was tumbled down andshivered at her feet, or indignant that her love had been sodespised, or glad because the barrier was removed whichmodesty had placed between her and a new, a real affection?"There is nothing to 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 it was thisfeeling rushed over all the others which agitated thatgentle little bosom.

　　Indeed, she did not cry so much as Becky expected--the other soothed and kissed her--a rare mark ofsympathy with Mrs. Becky. She treated Emmy like a childand 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, blushingexceedingly. Becky screamed with laughter--"Unbiglietto," she sang out with Rosina, "eccolo qua!"--thewhole house echoed with her shrill singing.

　　Two mornings after this little scene, although the daywas rainy and gusty, and Amelia had had an exceedinglywakeful night, listening to the wind roaring, and pityingall travellers by land and by water, yet she got up earlyand insisted upon taking a walk on the Dike with Georgy;and there she paced as the rain beat into her face, andshe looked out westward across the dark sea line andover the swollen billows which came tumbling and frothingto the shore. Neither spoke much, except now andthen, 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's the smoke of the steamer." It was thatsignal, sure enough.

　　But though the steamer was under way, he might notbe on board; he might not have got the letter; he mightnot choose to come. A hundred fears poured one over theother into the little heart, as fast as the waves on to theDike.

　　The boat followed the smoke into sight. Georgy had adandy telescope and got the vessel under view in the mostskilful manner. And he made appropriate nauticalcomments upon the manner of the approach of the steameras she came nearer and nearer, dipping and rising in thewater. The signal of an English steamer in sight wentfluttering up to the mast on the pier. I daresay Mrs.Amelia's heart was in a similar flutter.

　　Emmy tried to look through the telescope overGeorge's shoulder, but she could make nothing of it.She only saw a black eclipse bobbing up and downbefore her eyes.

　　George took the glass again and raked the vessel."How she does pitch!" he said. "There goes a wave slapover her bows. There's only two people on deck besidesthe steersman. There's a man lying down, and a--chapin a--cloak with a--Hooray!--it's Dob, by Jingo!"He clapped to the telescope and flung his arms roundhis mother. As for that lady, let us say what she did inthe words of a favourite poet--"Dakruoen gelasasa." Shewas sure it was William. It could be no other. What shehad said about hoping that he would not come was allhypocrisy. Of course he would come; what could he doelse but come? She knew he would come.

　　The ship came swiftly nearer and nearer. As they wentin to meet her at the landing-place at the quay, Emmy'sknees trembled so that she scarcely could run. She wouldhave liked to kneel down and say her prayers of thanksthere. Oh, she thought, she would be all her life sayingthem!

　　It was such a bad day that as the vessel came alongsideof the quay there were no idlers abroad, scarcelyeven a commissioner on the look out for the fewpassengers in the steamer. That young scapegrace Georgehad fled too, and as the gentleman in the old cloak linedwith red stuff stepped on to the shore, there was scarcelyany one present to see what took place, which was brieflythis:

　　A lady in a dripping white bonnet and shawl, with hertwo little hands out before her, went up to him, and inthe next minute she had altogether disappeared under thefolds of the old cloak, and was kissing one of his handswith all her might; whilst the other, I suppose, wasengaged in holding her to his heart (which her head justabout reached) and in preventing her from tumblingdown. She was murmuring something about--forgive--dear William--dear, dear, dearest friend--kiss, kiss, kiss,and so forth--and in fact went on under the cloak in anabsurd manner.

　　When Emmy emerged from it, she still kept tight holdof one of William's hands, and looked up in his face. Itwas full of sadness and tender love and pity. Sheunderstood its reproach and hung down her head.

　　"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 littlesoul once more to his heart.

　　As they issued out of the custom-house precincts,Georgy broke out on them, with his telescope up to hiseye, and a loud laugh of welcome; he danced round thecouple and performed many facetious antics as he ledthem up to the house. Jos wasn't up yet; Becky notvisible (though she looked at them through the blinds).Georgy ran off to see about breakfast. Emmy, whoseshawl and bonnet were off in the passage in the hands ofMrs. Payne, now went to undo the clasp of William'scloak, and--we will, if you please, go with George, andlook after breakfast for the Colonel. The vessel is in port.He has got the prize he has been trying for all his life.The bird has come in at last. There it is with its head onhis shoulder, billing and cooing close up to his heart,with soft outstretched fluttering wings. This is what hehas asked for every day and hour for eighteen years. Thisis what he pined after. Here it is--the summit, the end--the last page of the third volume. Good-bye, Colonel--God bless you, honest William!--Farewell, dear Amelia--Grow green again, tender little parasite, round therugged old oak to which you cling!

　　Perhaps it was compunction towards the kind andsimple creature, who had been the first in life to defendher, perhaps it was a dislike to all such sentimental scenes--but Rebecca, satisfied with her part in the transaction,never presented herself before Colonel Dobbin and thelady whom he married. "Particular business," she said,took her to Bruges, whither she went, and only Georgyand his uncle were present at the marriage ceremony.When it was over, and Georgy had rejoined his parents,Mrs. Becky returned (just for a few days) to comfort thesolitary bachelor, Joseph Sedley. He preferred acontinental life, he said, and declined to join in housekeepingwith his sister and her husband.

　　Emmy was very glad in her heart to think that shehad written to her husband before she read or knew ofthat letter of George's. "I knew it all along," Williamsaid; "but could I use that weapon against the poorfellow's memory? It was that which made me suffer sowhen you--"

　　"Never speak of that day again," Emmy cried out, socontrite and humble that William turned off theconversation by his account of Glorvina and dear old PeggyO'Dowd, with whom he was sitting when the letter ofrecall reached him. "If you hadn't sent for me," he addedwith a laugh, "who knows what Glorvina's name mightbe now?"

　　At present it is Glorvina Posky (now Mrs. MajorPosky); she took him on the death of his first wife,having resolved never to marry out of the regiment. LadyO'Dowd is also so attached to it that, she says, if anythingwere to happen to Mick, bedad she'd come backand marry some of 'em. But the Major-General is quitewell and lives in great splendour at O'Dowdstown, witha pack of beagles, and (with the exception of perhapstheir neighbour, Hoggarty of Castle Hoggarty) he is thefirst man of his county. Her Ladyship still dances jigs, andinsisted on standing up with the Master of the Horse atthe Lord Lieutenant's last ball. Both she and Glorvinadeclared that Dobbin had used the latter sheamfully, butPosky falling in, Glorvina was consoled, and a beautifulturban from Paris appeased the wrath of Lady O'Dowd.

　　When Colonel Dobbin quitted the service, which he didimmediately after his marriage, he rented a pretty littlecountry place in Hampshire, not far from Queen's Crawley,where, after the passing of the Reform Bill, Sir Pittand his family constantly resided now. All idea of aPeerage was out of the question, the Baronet's two seatsin Parliament being lost. He was both out of pocket andout of spirits by that catastrophe, failed in his health,and prophesied the speedy ruin of the Empire.

　　Lady Jane and Mrs. Dobbin became great friends--there was a perpetual crossing of pony-chaises betweenthe Hall and the Evergreens, the Colonel's place (rentedof his friend Major Ponto, who was abroad with hisfamily). Her Ladyship was godmother to Mrs. Dobbin's child,which bore her name, and was christened by the Rev.James Crawley, who succeeded his father in the living:and a pretty close friendship subsisted between the twolads, George and Rawdon, who hunted and shot togetherin the vacations, were both entered of the same collegeat Cambridge, and quarrelled with each other about LadyJane's daughter, with whom they were both, of course,in love. A match between George and that young lady waslong a favourite scheme of both the matrons, though Ihave heard that Miss Crawley herself inclined towardsher cousin.

　　Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's name was never mentioned byeither family. There were reasons why all should be silentregarding her. For wherever Mr. Joseph Sedley went, shetravelled likewise, and that infatuated man seemed to beentirely her slave. The Colonel's lawyers informed himthat his brother-in-law had effected a heavy insuranceupon his life, whence it was probable that he had beenraising money to discharge debts. He procured prolongedleave of absence from the East India House, and indeed,his infirmities were daily increasing.

　　On hearing the news about the insurance, Amelia, ina good deal of alarm, entreated her husband to go toBrussels, where Jos then was, and inquire into the stateof his affairs. The Colonel quitted home with reluctance(for he was deeply immersed in his History of thePunjaub which still occupies him, and much alarmedabout his little daughter, whom he idolizes, and who wasjust recovering from the chicken-pox) and went to Brusselsand found Jos living at one of the enormous hotelsin that city. Mrs. Crawley, who had her carriage, gaveentertainments, and lived in a very genteel manner,occupied another suite of apartments in the same hotel.

　　The Colonel, of course, did not desire to see that lady,or even think proper to notify his arrival at Brussels,except privately to Jos by a message through his valet. Josbegged the Colonel to come and see him that night, whenMrs. Crawley would be at a soiree, and when they couldmeet alone. He found his brother-in-law in a condition ofpitiable infirmity--and dreadfully afraid of Rebecca,though eager in his praises of her. She tended him througha series of unheard-of illnesses with a fidelity mostadmirable. She had been a daughter to him. "But--but--oh, for God's sake, do come and live near me, and--and--see me sometimes," whimpered out the unfortunateman.

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

　　"I swear to you--I swear to you on the Bible," gaspedout Joseph, wanting to kiss the book, "that she is asinnocent as a child, as spotless as your own wife."

　　"It may be so," said the Colonel gloomily, "but Emmycan't come to you. Be a man, Jos: break off thisdisreputable connection. Come home to your family. We hearyour affairs are involved."

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

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

　　"I thought--a little present to her--in case anythinghappened; and you know my health is so delicate--commongratitude you know--and I intend to leave all mymoney 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 toIndia, whither Mrs. Crawley could not follow him; todo anything to break off a connection which might havethe most fatal consequences to him.

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

　　"Then, why not come away with me?" said Dobbin inreply; but Jos had not the courage. "He would seeDobbin again in the morning; he must on no account say thathe had been there. He must go now. Becky might comein." And Dobbin quitted him, full of forebodings.

　　He never saw Jos more. Three months afterwardsJoseph Sedley died at Aix-la-Chapelle. It was found thatall his property had been muddled away in speculations,and was represented by valueless shares in differentbubble companies. All his available assets were the twothousand pounds for which his life was insured, and whichwere left equally between his beloved "sister Amelia,wife of, &c., and his friend and invaluable attendantduring sickness, Rebecca, wife of Lieutenant-ColonelRawdon Crawley, C.B.," who was appointed administratrix.

　　The solicitor of the insurance company swore it wasthe blackest case that ever had come before him, talkedof sending a commission to Aix to examine into the death,and the Company refused payment of the policy. ButMrs., or Lady Crawley, as she styled herself, came totown at once (attended with her solicitors, Messrs. Burke,Thurtell, and Hayes, of Thavies Inn) and dared theCompany to refuse the payment. They invited examination,they declared that she was the object of an infamousconspiracy, which had been pursuing her all through life,and triumphed finally. The money was paid, and hercharacter established, but Colonel Dobbin sent back his shareof the legacy to the insurance office and rigidly declined tohold any communication with Rebecca

　　She never was Lady Crawley, though she continued soto call herself. His Excellency Colonel Rawdon Crawleydied of yellow fever at Coventry Island, most deeplybeloved and deplored, and six weeks before the demise ofhis brother, Sir Pitt. The estate consequently devolvedupon the present Sir Rawdon Crawley, Bart.

　　He, too, has declined to see his mother, to whom hemakes a liberal allowance, and who, besides, appears tobe very wealthy. The Baronet lives entirely at Queen'sCrawley, with Lady Jane and her daughter, whilst Rebecca,Lady Crawley, chiefly hangs about Bath and Cheltenham,where a very strong party of excellent peopleconsider her to be a most injured woman. She has herenemies. Who has not? Her life is her answer to them.She busies herself in works of piety. She goes to church,and never without a footman. Her name is in all theCharity Lists. The destitute orange-girl, the neglectedwasherwoman, the distressed muffin-man find in her afast and generous friend. She is always having stalls atFancy Fairs for the benefit of these hapless beings. Emmy,her children, and the Colonel, coming to London sometime back, found themselves suddenly before her at oneof these fairs. She cast down her eyes demurely andsmiled as they started away from her; Emmy scurryingoff on the arm of George (now grown a dashing younggentleman) and the Colonel seizing up his little Janey,of whom he is fonder than of anything in the world--fonder even than of his History of the Punjaub.

　　"Fonder than he is of me," Emmy thinks with a sighBut he never said a word to Amelia that was not kind andgentle, or thought 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? or, having it, is satisfied?--come, children, let us shut up the box and the puppets,for our play is played out.