Chapter XXV: In Which All the Principal Personages Think Fit to Leave Brighton

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　Conducted to the ladies, at the Ship Inn, Dobbin assumeda jovial and rattling manner, which proved that thisyoung officer was becoming a more consummate hypocriteevery day of his life. He was trying to hide his ownprivate feelings, first upon seeing Mrs. George Osbornein her new condition, and secondly to mask theapprehensions he entertained as to the effect whichthe dismal news brought down by him would certainlyhave upon her.

　　"It is my opinion, George," he said, "that the FrenchEmperor will be upon us, horse and foot, before threeweeks are over, and will give the Duke such a dance asshall make the Peninsula appear mere child's play. Butyou need not say that to Mrs. Osborne, you know. Theremayn't be any fighting on our side after all, and ourbusiness in Belgium may turn out to be a mere militaryoccupation. Many persons think so; and Brussels is fullof fine people and ladies of fashion." So it was agreed torepresent the duty of the British army in Belgium in thisharmless light to Amelia.

　　This plot being arranged, the hypocritical Dobbin salutedMrs. George Osborne quite gaily, tried to pay herone or two compliments relative to her new position as abride (which compliments, it must be confessed, wereexceedingly clumsy and hung fire woefully), and then fellto talking about Brighton, and the sea-air, and the gaietiesof the place, and the beauties of the road and the meritsof the Lightning coach and horses--all in a mannerquite incomprehensible to Amelia, and very amusing toRebecca, who was watching the Captain, as indeed shewatched every one near whom she came.

　　Little Amelia, it must be owned, had rather a meanopinion of her husband's friend, Captain Dobbin. He lisped--he was very plain and homely-looking: and exceedinglyawkward and ungainly. She liked him for his attachmentto her husband (to be sure there was very little merit inthat), and she thought George was most generous andkind in extending his friendship to his brother officer.George had mimicked Dobbin's lisp and queer mannersmany times to her, though to do him justice, he alwaysspoke most highly of his friend's good qualities. In herlittle day of triumph, and not knowing him intimately asyet, she made light of honest William--and he knew heropinions of him quite well, and acquiesced in them veryhumbly. A time came when she knew him better, andchanged her notions regarding him; but that was distant asyet.

　　As for Rebecca, Captain Dobbin had not been two hoursin the ladies' company before she understood his secretperfectly. She did not like him, and feared him privately;nor was he very much prepossessed in her favour. Hewas so honest, that her arts and cajoleries did not affecthim, and he shrank from her with instinctive repulsion.And, as she was by no means so far superior to her sex asto be above jealousy, she disliked him the more for hisadoration of Amelia. Nevertheless, she was very respectfuland cordial in her manner towards him. A friend tothe Osbornes! a friend to her dearest benefactors! Shevowed she should always love him sincerely: she rememberedhim quite well on the Vauxhall night, as she toldAmelia archly, and she made a little fun of him when thetwo ladies went to dress for dinner. Rawdon Crawley paidscarcely any attention to Dobbin, looking upon him as agood-natured nincompoop and under-bred City man. Jospatronised him with much dignity.

　　When George and Dobbin were alone in the latter'sroom, to which George had followed him, Dobbin tookfrom his desk the letter which he had been charged byMr. Osborne to deliver to his son. "It's not in my father'shandwriting," said George, looking rather alarmed; norwas it: the letter was from Mr. Osborne's lawyer, and tothe following effect:

　　Bedford Row, May 7, 1815.

　　Sir,

　　I am commissioned by Mr. Osborne to inform you,that he abides by the determination which he beforeexpressed to you, and that in consequence of the marriagewhich you have been pleased to contract, he ceases toconsider you henceforth as a member of his family.This determination is final and irrevocable.

　　Although the monies expended upon you in yourminority, and the bills which you have drawn uponhim so unsparingly of late years, far exceed in amountthe sum to which you are entitled in your own right(being the third part of the fortune of your mother,the late Mrs. Osborne and which reverted to you at herdecease, and to Miss Jane Osborne and Miss MariaFrances Osborne); yet I am instructed by Mr. Osborneto say, that he waives all claim upon your estate, andthat the sum of 2,0001., 4 per cent. annuities, at thevalue of the day (being your one-third share of the sumof 6,0001.), shall be paid over to yourself or your agentsupon your receipt for the same, by

　　Your obedient Servt.,

　　S. Higgs.

　　P.S.--Mr. Osborne desires me to say, once for all,that he declines to receive any messages, letters, orcommunications from you on this or any other subject.

　　"A pretty way you have managed the affair," saidGeorge, looking savagely at William Dobbin. "Look there,Dobbin," and he flung over to the latter his parent's letter."A beggar, by Jove, and all in consequence of my d--dsentimentality. Why couldn't we have waited? A ball mighthave done for me in the course of the war, and may still,and how will Emmy be bettered by being left a beggar'swidow? It was all your doing. You were never easy untilyou had got me married and ruined. What the deuce amI to do with two thousand pounds? Such a sum won'tlast two years. I've lost a hundred and forty to Crawley atcards and billiards since I've been down here. A prettymanager of a man's matters you are, forsooth."

　　"There's no denying that the position is a hard one,"Dobbin replied, after reading over the letter with a blankcountenance; "and as you say, it is partly of my making.There are some men who wouldn't mind changing withyou," he added, with a bitter smile. "How many captainsin the regiment have two thousand pounds to the fore,think you? You must live on your pay till your fatherrelents, and if you die, you leave your wife a hundred ayear."

　　"Do you suppose a man of my habits call live on hispay and a hundred a year?" George cried out in greatanger. "You must be a fool to talk so, Dobbin. How thedeuce am I to keep up my position in the world uponsuch a pitiful pittance? I can't change my habits. I musthave my comforts. I wasn't brought up on porridge, likeMacWhirter, or on potatoes, like old O'Dowd. Do youexpect my wife to take in soldiers' washing, or ride afterthe regiment in a baggage waggon?"

　　"Well, well," said Dobbin, still good-naturedly, "we'llget her a better conveyance. But try and remember thatyou are only a dethroned prince now, George, my boy;and be quiet whilst the tempest lasts. It won't be forlong. Let your name be mentioned in the Gazette, andI'll engage the old father relents towards you:"

　　"Mentioned in the Gazette!" George answered. "And inwhat part of it? Among the killed and wounded returns,and at the top of the list, very likely."

　　"Psha! It will be time enough to cry out when we arehurt," Dobbin said. "And if anything happens, you know,George, I have got a little, and I am not a marryingman, and I shall not forget my godson in my will," headded, with a smile. Whereupon the dispute ended--asmany scores of such conversations between Osborneand his friend had concluded previously--by the formerdeclaring there was no possibility of being angry withDobbin long, and forgiving him very generously afterabusing him without cause.

　　"I say, Becky," cried Rawdon Crawley out of hisdressing-room, to his lady, who was attiring herself fordinner in her own chamber.

　　"What?" said Becky's shrill voice. She was lookingover her shoulder in the glass. She had put on the neatestand freshest white frock imaginable, and with bareshoulders and a little necklace, and a light blue sash, shelooked the image of youthful innocence and girlishhappiness.

　　"I say, what'll Mrs. O. do, when 0. goes out with theregiment?" Crawley said coming into the room, performinga duet on his head with two huge hair-brushes, andlooking out from under his hair with admiration on hispretty little wife.

　　"I suppose she'll cry her eyes out," Becky answered."She has been whimpering half a dozen times, at thevery notion of it, already to me."

　　"You don't care, I suppose?" Rawdon said, half angryat his wife's want of feeling.

　　"You wretch! don't you know that I intend to go withyou," Becky replied. "Besides, you're different. You goas General Tufto's aide-de-camp. We don't belong to theline," Mrs. Crawley said, throwing up her head with anair that so enchanted her husband that he stooped downand kissed it.

　　"Rawdon dear--don't you think--you'd better get that--money from Cupid, before he goes?" Becky continued,fixing on a killing bow. She called George Osborne,Cupid. She had flattered him about his good looks ascore of times already. She watched over him kindly atecarte of a night when he would drop in to Rawdon'squarters for a half-hour before bed-time.

　　She had often called him a horrid dissipated wretch,and threatened to tell Emmy of his wicked ways andnaughty extravagant habits. She brought his cigar andlighted it for him; she knew the effect of that manoeuvre,having practised it in former days upon Rawdon Crawley.He thought her gay, brisk, arch, distinguee, delightful.In their little drives and dinners, Becky, of course,quite outshone poor Emmy, who remained very muteand timid while Mrs. Crawley and her husband rattledaway together, and Captain Crawley (and Jos after hejoined the young married people) gobbled in silence.

　　Emmy's mind somehow misgave her about her friend.Rebecca's wit, spirits, and accomplishments troubled herwith a rueful disquiet. They were only a week married,and here was George already suffering ennui, and eagerfor others' society! She trembled for the future. Howshall I be a companion for him, she thought--so cleverand so brilliant, and I such a humble foolish creature?How noble it was of him to marry me--to give up everythingand stoop down to me! I ought to have refusedhim, only I had not the heart. I ought to have stopped athome and taken care of poor Papa. And her neglect ofher parents (and indeed there was some foundation forthis charge which the poor child's uneasy consciencebrought against her) was now remembered for the firsttime, and caused her to blush with humiliation. Oh!thought she, I have been very wicked and selfish--selfishin forgetting them in their sorrows--selfish in forcingGeorge to marry me. I know I'm not worthy of him--Iknow he would have been happy without me--and yet--I tried, I tried to give him up.

　　It is hard when, before seven days of marriage areover, such thoughts and confessions as these forcethemselves on a little bride's mind. But so it was, and thenight before Dobbin came to join these young people--on a fine brilliant moonlight night of May--so warmand balmy that the windows were flung open to the balcony,from which George and Mrs. Crawley were gazing uponthe calm ocean spread shining before them,while Rawdon and Jos were engaged at backgammonwithin--Amelia couched in a great chair quite neglected, andwatching both these parties, felt a despair and remorsesuch as were bitter companions for that tender lonelysoul. Scarce a week was past, and it was come to this!The future, had she regarded it, offered a dismal prospect;but Emmy was too shy, so to speak, to look to that,and embark alone on that wide sea, and unfit to navigateit without a guide and protector. I know Miss Smith hasa mean opinion of her. But how many, my dear Madam,are endowed with your prodigious strength of mind?

　　"Gad, what a fine night, and how bright the moon is!"George said, with a puff of his cigar, which went soaringup skywards.

　　"How delicious they smell in the open air! I adorethem. Who'd think the moon was two hundred and thirty-six thousand eight hundred and forty-seven miles off?"Becky added, gazing at that orb with a smile. "Isn't itclever of me to remember that? Pooh! we learned it allat Miss Pinkerton's! How calm the sea is, and how cleareverything. I declare I can almost see the coast ofFrance!" and her bright green eyes streamed out, andshot into the night as if they could see through it.

　　"Do you know what I intend to do one morning?" shesaid; "I find I can swim beautifully, and some day, whenmy Aunt Crawley's companion--old Briggs, you know--you remember her--that hook-nosed woman, with thelong wisps of hair--when Briggs goes out to bathe, Iintend to dive under her awning, and insist on areconciliation in the water. Isn't that a stratagem?"

　　George burst out laughing at the idea of this aquaticmeeting. "What's the row there, you two?" Rawdonshouted out, rattling the box. Amelia was making a foolof herself in an absurd hysterical manner, and retiredto her own room to whimper in private.

　　Our history is destined in this chapter to go backwardsand forwards in a very irresolute manner seemingly, andhaving conducted our story to to-morrow presently, weshall immediately again have occasion to step back toyesterday, so that the whole of the tale may get a hearing.As you behold at her Majesty's drawing-room, theambassadors' and high dignitaries' carriages whisk offfrom a private door, while Captain Jones's ladies are waitingfor their fly: as you see in the Secretary of the Treasury's antechamber, a half-dozen of petitioners waitingpatiently for their audience, and called out one by one,when suddenly an Irish member or some eminent personageenters the apartment, and instantly walks into Mr.Under-Secretary over the heads of all the people present:so in the conduct of a tale, the romancer is obliged toexercise this most partial sort of justice. Although all thelittle incidents must be heard, yet they must be put offwhen the great events make their appearance; and surelysuch a circumstance as that which brought Dobbin toBrighton, viz., the ordering out of the Guards and the lineto Belgium, and the mustering of the allied armies in thatcountry under the command of his Grace the Duke ofWellington--such a dignified circumstance as that, I say,was entitled to the pas over all minor occurrences whereofthis history is composed mainly, and hence a littletrifling disarrangement and disorder was excusable andbecoming. We have only now advanced in time so farbeyond Chapter XXII as to have got our various charactersup into their dressing-rooms before the dinner,which took place as usual on the day of Dobbin's arrival.

　　George was too humane or too much occupied with thetie of his neckcloth to convey at once all the news toAmelia which his comrade had brought with him fromLondon. He came into her room, however, holding theattorney's letter in his hand, and with so solemn andimportant an air that his wife, always ingeniously onthe watch for calamity, thought the worst was about tobefall, and running up to her husband, besought herdearest George to tell her everything--he was orderedabroad; there would be a battle next week--she knewthere would.

　　Dearest George parried the question about foreignservice, and with a melancholy shake of the head said,"No, Emmy; it isn't that: it's not myself I care about:it's you. I have had bad news from my father. He refusesany communication with me; he has flung us off; andleaves us to poverty. I can rough it well enough; butyou, my dear, how will you bear it? read here." And hehanded her over the letter.

　　Amelia, with a look of tender alarm in her eyes,listened to her noble hero as he uttered the above generoussentiments, and sitting down on the bed, read the letterwhich George gave her with such a pompous martyr-likeair. Her face cleared up as she read the document, however.The idea of sharing poverty and privation in companywith the beloved object is, as we have before said,far from being disagreeable to a warm-hearted woman.The notion was actually pleasant to little Amelia. Then,as usual, she was ashamed of herself for feeling happy atsuch an indecorous moment, and checked her pleasure,saying demurely, "O, George, how your poor heart mustbleed at the idea of being 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, mydearest, kindest husband. O, I shall never forgive myselfif he does not."

　　"What vexes me, my poor Emmy, is not my misfortune,but yours," George said. "I don't care for a littlepoverty; and I think, without vanity, I've talents enoughto make my own way."

　　"That you have," interposed his wife, who thought thatwar should cease, and her husband should be made ageneral instantly.

　　"Yes, I shall make my way as well as another," Osbornewent on; "but you, my dear girl, how can I bearyour being deprived of the comforts and station insociety which my wife had a right to expect? My dearestgirl in barracks; the wife of a soldier in a marchingregiment; subject to all sorts of annoyance and privation!It makes me miserable."

　　Emmy, quite at ease, as this was her husband's onlycause of disquiet, took his hand, and with a radiant faceand smile began to warble that stanza from the favouritesong of "Wapping Old Stairs," in which the heroine, afterrebuking her Tom for inattention, promises "his trousersto mend, and his grog too to make," if he will be constantand kind, and not forsake her. "Besides," she said,after a pause, during which she looked as pretty andhappy as any young woman need, "isn't two thousandpounds an immense deal of money, George?"

　　George laughed at her naivete; and finally they wentdown to dinner, Amelia clinging to George's arm, stillwarbling the tune of "Wapping Old Stairs," and morepleased and light of mind than she had been for somedays past.

　　Thus the repast, which at length came off, instead ofbeing dismal, was an exceedingly brisk and merry one.The excitement of the campaign counteracted in George'smind the depression occasioned by the disinheriting letter.Dobbin still kept up his character of rattle. He amusedthe company with accounts of the army in Belgium;where nothing but fetes and gaiety and fashion weregoing on. Then, having a particular end in view, thisdexterous captain proceeded to describe Mrs. MajorO'Dowd packing her own and her Major's wardrobe, andhow his best epaulets had been stowed into a tea canister,whilst her own famous yellow turban, with the bird ofparadise wrapped in brown paper, was locked up in theMajor's tin cocked-hat case, and wondered what effectit would have at the French king's court at Ghent, or thegreat military balls at Brussels.

　　"Ghent! Brussels!" cried out Amelia with a suddenshock and start. "Is the regiment ordered away, George--is it ordered away?" A look of terror came over thesweet smiling face, and she clung to George as by aninstinct.

　　"Don't be afraid, dear," he said good-naturedly; "itis but a twelve hours' passage. It won't hurt you. Youshall go, too, Emmy."

　　"I intend to go," said Becky. "I'm on the staff. GeneralTufto is a great flirt of mine. Isn't he, Rawdon?"Rawdon laughed out with his usual roar. WilliamDobbin flushed up quite red. "She can't go," he said; "thinkof the--of the danger," he was going to add; but hadnot all his conversation during dinner-time tended toprove there was none? He became very confused andsilent.

　　"I must and will go," Amelia cried with the greatestspirit; and George, applauding her resolution, patted herunder the chin, and asked all the persons present ifthey ever saw such a termagant of a wife, and agreedthat the lady should bear him company. "We'll haveMrs. O'Dowd to chaperon you," he said. What cared sheso long as her husband was near her? Thus somehowthe bitterness of a parting was juggled away. Though warand danger were in store, war and danger might notbefall for months to come. There was a respite at any rate,which made the timid little Amelia almost as happy asa full reprieve would have done, and which even Dobbinowned in his heart was very welcome. For, to be permittedto see her was now the greatest privilege and hopeof his life, and he thought with himself secretly how hewould watch and protect her. I wouldn't have let her goif I had been married to her, he thought. But George wasthe master, and his friend did not think fit to remonstrate.

　　Putting her arm round her friend's waist, Rebecca atlength carried Amelia off from the dinner-table where somuch business of importance had been discussed, andleft the gentlemen in a highly exhilarated state, drinkingand talking very gaily.

　　In the course of the evening Rawdon got a little family-note from his wife, which, although he crumpled it upand burnt it instantly in the candle, we had the goodluck to read over Rebecca's shoulder. "Great news," shewrote. "Mrs. Bute is gone. Get the money from Cupid tonight,as he'll be off to-morrow most likely. Mind this.--R." So when the little company was about adjourningto coffee in the women's apartment, Rawdon touchedOsborne on the elbow, and said gracefully, "I say, Osborne,my boy, if quite convenient, I'll trouble you forthat 'ere small trifle." It was not quite convenient, butnevertheless George gave him a considerable presentinstalment in bank-notes from his pocket-book, and a billon his agents at a week's date, for the remaining sum.

　　This matter arranged, George, and Jos, and Dobbin,held a council of war over their cigars, and agreed that ageneral move should be made for London in Jos's opencarriage the next day. Jos, I think, would have preferredstaying until Rawdon Crawley quitted Brighton, but Dobbinand George overruled him, and he agreed to carrythe party to town, and ordered four horses, as became hisdignity. With these they set off in state, after breakfast,the next day. Amelia had risen very early in the morning,and packed her little trunks with the greatest alacrity,while Osborne lay in bed deploring that she had not amaid to help her. She was only too glad, however, toperform this office for herself. A dim uneasy sentimentabout Rebecca filled her mind already; and although theykissed each other most tenderly at parting, yet we knowwhat jealousy is; and Mrs. Amelia possessed that amongother virtues of her sex.

　　Besides these characters who are coming and goingaway, we must remember that there were some other oldfriends of ours at Brighton; Miss Crawley, namely, andthe suite in attendance upon her. Now, although Rebeccaand her husband were but at a few stones' throw of thelodgings which the invalid Miss Crawley occupied, theold lady's door remained as pitilessly closed to them as ithad been heretofore in London. As long as she remainedby the side of her sister-in-law, Mrs. Bute Crawley tookcare that her beloved Matilda should not be agitated by ameeting with her nephew. When the spinster took herdrive, the faithful Mrs. Bute sate beside her in the carriage.When Miss Crawley took the air in a chair, Mrs.Bute marched on one side of the vehicle, whilst honestBriggs occupied the other wing. And if they met Rawdonand his wife by chance--although the former constantlyand obsequiously took off his hat, the Miss-Crawley partypassed him by with such a frigid and killing indifference,that Rawdon began to despair.

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

　　"A comfortable inn in Brighton is better than aspunging-house in Chancery Lane," his wife answered, who wasof a more cheerful temperament. "Think of those twoaides-de-camp of Mr. Moses, the sheriff's-officer, whowatched our lodging for a week. Our friends here arevery 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 dauntless little Becky, and further pointed out to herhusband the great comfort and advantage of meetingJos and Osborne, whose acquaintance had brought toRawdon Crawley a most timely little supply of readymoney.

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

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

　　Through Rawdon's valet, who still kept up a triflingacquaintance with the male inhabitants of Miss Crawley'sservants' hall, and was instructed to treat the coachmanto drink whenever they met, old Miss Crawley's movementswere pretty well known by our young couple; andRebecca luckily bethought herself of being unwell, and ofcalling in the same apothecary who was in attendanceupon the spinster, so that their information was on thewhole tolerably complete. Nor was Miss Briggs, althoughforced to adopt a hostile attitude, secretly inimical toRawdon and his wife. She was naturally of a kindly andforgiving disposition. Now that the cause of jealousy wasremoved, her dislike for Rebecca disappeared also, andshe remembered the latter's invariable good wordsand good humour. And, indeed, she and Mrs.Firkin, the lady's-maid, and the whole of Miss Crawley'shousehold, groaned under the tyranny of thetriumphant Mrs. Bute.

　　As often will be the case, that good but imperiouswoman pushed her advantages too far, and her successesquite unmercifully. She had in the course of a few weeksbrought the invalid to such a state of helpless docility,that the poor soul yielded herself entirely to her sister'sorders, and did not even dare to complain of her slaveryto Briggs or Firkin. Mrs. Bute measured out the glassesof wine which Miss Crawley was daily allowed to take,with irresistible accuracy, greatly to the annoyance ofFirkin and the butler, who found themselves deprived ofcontrol over even the sherry-bottle. She apportioned thesweetbreads, jellies, chickens; their quantity and order.Night and noon and morning she brought the abominabledrinks ordained by the Doctor, and made her patientswallow them with so affecting an obedience that Firkinsaid "my poor Missus du take her physic like a lamb." Sheprescribed the drive in the carriage or the ride in thechair, and, in a word, ground down the old lady in herconvalescence in such a way as only belongs to yourproper-managing, motherly moral woman. If ever thepatient faintly resisted, and pleaded for a little bit moredinner or a little drop less medicine, the nurse threatenedher with instantaneous death, when Miss Crawleyinstantly gave in. "She's no spirit left in her," Firkinremarked to Briggs; "she ain't ave called me a fool thesethree weeks." Finally, Mrs. Bute had made up her mindto dismiss the aforesaid honest lady's-maid, Mr. Bowlsthe large confidential man, and Briggs herself, and tosend for her daughters from the Rectory, previous toremoving the dear invalid bodily to Queen's Crawley, whenan odious accident happened which called her away fromduties so pleasing. The Reverend Bute Crawley, herhusband, riding home one night, fell with his horse andbroke his collar-bone. Fever and inflammatory symptomsset in, and Mrs. Bute was forced to leave Sussex forHampshire. As soon as ever Bute was restored, shepromised to return to her dearest friend, and departed,leaving the strongest injunctions with the householdregarding their behaviour to their mistress; and as soon asshe got into the Southampton coach, there was such ajubilee and sense of relief in all Miss Crawley's house,as the company of persons assembled there had notexperienced for many a week before. That very day MissCrawley left off her afternoon dose of medicine: thatafternoon Bowls opened an independent bottle of sherryfor himself and Mrs. Firkin: that night Miss Crawleyand Miss Briggs indulged in a game of piquet insteadof one of Porteus's sermons. It was as in the old nursery-story, when the stick forgot to beat the dog, and thewhole course of events underwent a peaceful and happyrevolution.

　　At a very early hour in the morning, twice or thrice aweek, Miss Briggs used to betake herself to a bathing-machine, and disport in the water in a flannel gown andan oilskin cap. Rebecca, as we have seen, was aware ofthis circumstance, and though she did not attempt tostorm Briggs as she had threatened, and actually diveinto that lady's presence and surprise her under thesacredness of the awning, Mrs. Rawdon determined toattack Briggs as she came away from her bath, refreshedand invigorated by her dip, and likely to be in goodhumour.

　　So getting up very early the next morning, Beckybrought the telescope in their sitting-room, which facedthe sea, to bear upon the bathing-machines on the beach;saw Briggs arrive, enter her box; and put out to sea;and was on the shore just as the nymph of whom shecame in quest stepped out of the little caravan on to theshingles. It was a pretty picture: the beach; the bathing-women's faces; the long line of rocks and building wereblushing and bright in the sunshine. Rebecca wore a kind,tender smile on her face, and was holding out her prettywhite hand as Briggs emerged from the box. What couldBriggs do but accept the salutation?

　　"Miss Sh--Mrs. Crawley," she said.

　　Mrs. Crawley seized her hand, pressed it to her heart,and with a sudden impulse, flinging her arms roundBriggs, kissed her affectionately. "Dear, dear friend!" shesaid, with a touch of such natural feeling, that MissBriggs of course at once began to melt, and even thebathing-woman was mollified.

　　Rebecca found no difficulty in engaging Briggs in a long,intimate, and delightful conversation. Everything that hadpassed since the morning of Becky's sudden departurefrom Miss Crawley's house in Park Lane up to the presentday, and Mrs. Bute's happy retreat, was discussed anddescribed by Briggs. All Miss Crawley's symptoms, andthe particulars of her illness and medical treatment, werenarrated by the confidante with that fulness andaccuracy which women delight in. About their complaintsand their doctors do ladies ever tire of talking to eachother? Briggs did not on this occasion; nor did Rebeccaweary of listening. She was thankful, truly thankful, thatthe dear kind Briggs, that the faithful, the invaluableFirkin, had been permitted to remain with their benefactressthrough 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 she help giving her hand to the man who had wonher heart? Briggs, the sentimental, could only turn upher eyes to heaven at this appeal, and heave asympathetic sigh, and think that she, too, had givenaway her affections long years ago, and own that Rebeccawas no very great criminal.

　　"Can I ever forget her who so befriended the friendlessorphan? No, though she has cast me off," the lattersaid, "I shall never cease to love her, and I would devotemy life to her service. As my own benefactress, as mybeloved Rawdon's adored relative, I love and admire MissCrawley, dear Miss Briggs, beyond any woman in theworld, and next to her I love all those who are faithfulto her. I would never have treated Miss Crawley'sfaithful friends as that odious designing Mrs. Bute hasdone. Rawdon, who was all heart," Rebecca continued,"although his outward manners might seem rough andcareless, had said a hundred times, with tears in his eyes,that he blessed Heaven for sending his dearest Aunty twosuch admirable nurses as her attached Firkin and heradmirable Miss Briggs. Should the machinations of thehorrible Mrs. Bute end, as she too much feared they would,in banishing everybody that Miss Crawley loved from herside, and leaving that poor lady a victim to those harpiesat the Rectory, Rebecca besought her (Miss Briggs) toremember that her own home, humble as it was, wasalways open to receive Briggs. Dear friend," sheexclaimed, in a transport of enthusiasm, "some heartscan never forget benefits; all women are not ButeCrawleys! Though why should I complain of her," Rebeccaadded; "though I have been her tool and the victim to herarts, do I not owe my dearest Rawdon to her?" AndRebecca unfolded to Briggs all Mrs. Bute's conduct atQueen's Crawley, which, though unintelligible to her then,was clearly enough explained by the events now--nowthat the attachment had sprung up which Mrs. Bute hadencouraged by a thousand artifices--now that twoinnocent people had fallen into the snares which she hadlaid for them, and loved and married and been ruinedthrough her schemes.

　　It was all very true. Briggs saw the stratagems asclearly as possible. Mrs. Bute had made the matchbetween Rawdon and Rebecca. Yet, though the latter was aperfectly innocent victim, Miss Briggs could not disguisefrom her friend her fear that Miss Crawley's affectionswere hopelessly estranged from Rebecca, and that the oldlady would never forgive her nephew for making soimprudent a marriage.

　　On this point Rebecca had her own opinion, andstill kept up a good heart. If Miss Crawley did notforgive them at present, she might at least relent on afuture day. Even now, there was only that puling, sicklyPitt Crawley between Rawdon and a baronetcy; and shouldanything happen to the former, all would be well. At allevents, to have Mrs. Bute's designs exposed, and herselfwell abused, was a satisfaction, and might be advantageousto Rawdon's interest; and Rebecca, after an hour'schat with her recovered friend, left her with the mosttender demonstrations of regard, and quite assured thatthe conversation they had had together would bereported to Miss Crawley before many hours were over.

　　This interview ended, it became full time for Rebeccato return to her inn, where all the party of the previousday were assembled at a farewell breakfast. Rebecca tooksuch a tender leave of Amelia as became two women wholoved each other as sisters; and having used her handkerchief plentifully, and hung on her friend's neck as if theywere parting for ever, and waved the handkerchief(which was quite dry, by the way) out of window, as thecarriage drove off, she came back to the breakfast table,and ate some prawns with a good deal of appetite,considering her emotion; and while she was munching thesedelicacies, explained to Rawdon what had occurred in hermorning walk between herself and Briggs. Her hopeswere very high: she made her husband share them. Shegenerally succeeded in making her husband share all heropinions, whether melancholy or cheerful.

　　"You will now, if you please, my dear, sit down at thewriting-table and pen me a pretty little letter to MissCrawley, in which you'll say that you are a good boy,and that sort of thing." So Rawdon sate down, and wroteoff, "Brighton, Thursday," and "My dear Aunt," withgreat rapidity: but there the gallant officer's imaginationfailed him. He mumbled the end of his pen, and lookedup in his wife's face. She could not help laughing at hisrueful countenance, and marching up and down the roomwith her hands behind her, the little woman began todictate a letter, which he took down.

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

　　"What?" said Rawdon, rather surprised, but took thehumour of the phrase, and presently wrote it down witha grin.

　　"Which very possibly may be fatal, I have comehither--"

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

　　"I have come hither," Rebecca insisted, with a stampof her foot, "to say farewell to my dearest and earliestfriend. I beseech you before I go, not perhaps toreturn, once more to let me press the hand from whichI have received nothing but kindnesses all my life."

　　"Kindnesses all my life," echoed Rawdon, scratchingdown the words, and quite amazed at his own facility ofcomposition.

　　"I ask nothing from you but that we should part not inanger. I have the pride of my family on some points,though not on all. I married a painter's daughter, and amnot ashamed of the union."

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

　　"You old booby," Rebecca said, pinching his ear andlooking over to see that he made no mistakes in spelling--"beseech is not spelt with an a, and earliest is." So healtered these words, bowing to the superior knowledge ofhis little Missis.

　　"I thought that you were aware of the progress of myattachment," Rebecca continued: "I knew that Mrs. ButeCrawley confirmed and encouraged it. But I make noreproaches. I married a poor woman, and am content toabide by what I have done. Leave your property, dearAunt, as you will. I shall never complain of the way inwhich you dispose of it. I would have you believe that Ilove you for yourself, and not for money's sake. I want tobe reconciled to you ere I leave England. Let me, letme see you before I go. A few weeks or months hence itmay be too late, and I cannot bear the notion of quittingthe country without a kind word of farewell from you."

　　"She won't recognise my style in that," said Becky. "Imade the sentences short and brisk on purpose." Andthis authentic missive was despatched under cover to MissBriggs.

　　Old Miss Crawley laughed when Briggs, with greatmystery, handed her over this candid and simplestatement. "We may read it now Mrs. Bute is away,"she said. "Read it to me, Briggs."

　　When Briggs had read the epistle out, her patronesslaughed more. "Don't you see, you goose," she said toBriggs, who professed to be much touched by the honestaffection which pervaded the composition, "don't yousee that Rawdon never wrote a word of it. He neverwrote to me without asking for money in his life, and allhis letters are full of bad spelling, and dashes, and badgrammar. It is that little serpent of a governess who ruleshim." They are all alike, Miss Crawley thought in herheart. They all want me dead, and are hankering for mymoney.

　　"I don't mind seeing Rawdon," she added, after apause, and in a tone of perfect indifference. "I had justas soon shake hands with him as not. Provided there isno scene, why shouldn't we meet? I don't mind. Buthuman patience has its limits; and mind, my dear, Irespectfully decline to receive Mrs. Rawdon--I can'tsupport that quite"--and Miss Briggs was fain to be contentwith this half-message of conciliation; and thought thatthe best method of bringing the old lady and her nephewtogether, was to warn Rawdon to be in waiting on theCliff, when Miss Crawley went out for her air in herchair.

　　There they met. I don't know whether Miss Crawleyhad any private feeling of regard or emotion upon seeingher old favourite; but she held out a couple of fingersto him with as smiling and good-humoured an air, as ifthey had met only the day before. And as for Rawdon,he turned as red as scarlet, and wrung off Briggs's hand,so great was his rapture and his confusion at the meeting.Perhaps it was interest that moved him: or perhapsaffection: perhaps he was touched by the change whichthe illness of the last weeks had wrought in his aunt.

　　"The old girl has always acted like a trump to me," hesaid to his wife, as he narrated the interview, "and I felt,you know, rather queer, and that sort of thing. I walkedby the side of the what-dy'e-call-'em, you know, and toher own door, where Bowls came to help her in. And Iwanted 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 itcame to the point."

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

　　"Don't call me names," said the big Guardsman, sulkily."Perhaps I was a fool, Becky, but you shouldn't sayso"; and he gave his wife a look, such as his countenancecould wear when angered, and such as was not pleasantto face.

　　"Well, dearest, to-morrow you must be on the look-out,and go and see her, mind, whether she asks you or no,"Rebecca said, trying to soothe her angry yoke-mate. Onwhich he replied, that he would do exactly as he liked,and would just thank her to keep a civil tongue in herhead--and the wounded husband went away, and passedthe forenoon at the billiard-room, sulky, silent, andsuspicious.

　　But before the night was over he was compelled togive in, and own, as usual, to his wife's superior prudenceand foresight, by the most melancholy confirmation of thepresentiments which she had regarding the consequencesof the mistake which he had made. Miss Crawley musthave had some emotion upon seeing him and shakinghands with him after so long a rupture. She mused uponthe meeting a considerable time. "Rawdon is getting veryfat and old, Briggs," she said to her companion. "Hisnose has become red, and he is exceedingly coarse inappearance. His marriage to that woman has hopelesslyvulgarised him. Mrs. Bute always said they drank together;and I have no doubt they do. Yes: he smelt of ginabominably. I remarked it. Didn't you?"

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

　　"An artful designing woman? Yes, so she is, and shedoes speak ill of every one--but I am certain that womanhas made Rawdon drink. All those low people do--"

　　"He was very much affected at seeing you, ma'am," thecompanion said; "and I am sure, when you remember thathe is going to the field of danger--"

　　"How much money has he promised you, Briggs?" theold spinster cried out, working herself into a nervousrage--"there now, of course you begin to cry. I hatescenes. Why am I always to be worried? Go and cry up inyour own room, and send Firkin to me-- no, stop, sitdown and blow your nose, and leave off crying, and writea letter to Captain Crawley." Poor Briggs went andplaced herself obediently at the writing-book. Its leaveswere blotted all over with relics of the firm, strong, rapidhandwriting of the spinster's late amanuensis, Mrs. ButeCrawley.

　　"Begin 'My dear sir,' or 'Dear sir,' that will be better,and say you are desired by Miss Crawley--no, by MissCrawley's medical man, by Mr. Creamer, to state thatmy health is such that all strong emotions would bedangerous in my present delicate condition--and that I mustdecline any family discussions or interviews whatever.And thank him for coming to Brighton, and so forth, andbeg him not to stay any longer on my account. And, MissBriggs, you may add that I wish him a bon voyage, andthat if he will take the trouble to call upon my lawyer'sin Gray's Inn Square, he will find there a communicationfor him. Yes, that will do; and that will make him leaveBrighton." The benevolent Briggs penned this sentencewith the utmost satisfaction.

　　"To seize upon me the very day after Mrs. Bute wasgone," the old lady prattled on; "it was too indecent.Briggs, my dear, write to Mrs. Crawley, and say sheneedn't come back. No--she needn't--and she shan't--and I won't be a slave in my own house--and I won't bestarved and choked with poison. They all want to kill me--all--all"--and with this the lonely old woman burstinto a scream of hysterical tears.

　　The last scene of her dismal Vanity Fair comedy wasfast approaching; the tawdry lamps were going out oneby one; and the dark curtain was almost ready todescend.

　　That final paragraph, which referred Rawdon to MissCrawley's solicitor in London, and which Briggs hadwritten so good-naturedly, consoled the dragoon and hiswife somewhat, after their first blank disappointment, onreading the spinster's refusal of a reconciliation. And iteffected the purpose for which the old lady had caused itto be written, by making Rawdon very eager to get toLondon.

　　Out of Jos's losings and George Osborne's bank-notes,he paid his bill at the inn, the landlord whereof does notprobably know to this day how doubtfully his accountonce stood. For, as a general sends his baggage to therear before an action, Rebecca had wisely packed up alltheir chief valuables and sent them off under care ofGeorge's servant, who went in charge of the trunks onthe coach back to London. Rawdon and his wifereturned 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'msure she can't last long. I wonder what sort of a chequeI shall have at Waxy's. Two hundred--it can't be lessthan two hundred--hey, Becky?"

　　In consequence of the repeated visits of the aides-de-camp of the Sheriff of Middlesex, Rawdon and his wifedid not go back to their lodgings at Brompton, but putup at an inn. Early the next morning, Rebecca had anopportunity of seeing them as she skirted that suburbon her road to old Mrs. Sedley's house at Fulham, whithershe went to look for her dear Amelia and her Brightonfriends. They were all off to Chatham, thence to Harwich,to take shipping for Belgium with the regiment--kind old Mrs. Sedley very much depressed and tearful,solitary. Returning from this visit, Rebecca found herhusband, who had been off to Gray's Inn, and learnt hisfate. He came back furious.

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

　　Though it told against themselves, the joke was toogood, and Becky burst out laughing at Rawdon'sdiscomfiture.