drives which they took, whither, of all places in the world they went to Russell Square, Bloomsbury, and the house of John Sedley. When the two girls met, and flew into each other’s arms, Rebecca performed her part of the embrace with the most perfect energy. Poor little Amelia blushed as she kissed her friend, and thought she had been guilty of something very like coldness towards her.
Their first interview was but a very short one. Miss Crawley was fairly captivated by the sweet blushing face of the young lady who came forward so timidly and so gracefully to pay her respects to the protector of her friend.
“My dear Sharp, your young friend is charming. Send for her to Park Lane, do you hear?” Miss Crawley had a good taste. She talked of Amelia half a dozen times that day. She mentioned her to Rawdon Crawley.
Of course, on this Rebecca instantly stated that Amelia was engaged to be married.
Amelia visited Rebecca in her present-day home. As Rebecca was shawling her in an upper apartment, where these two friends had an opportunity for a little of secret talking, Amelia, coming up to Rebecca, and taking her two little hands in hers, said, “Rebecca, I see it all.” Rebecca kissed her. And regarding this delightful secret, not one syllable more was said by either of the young women. But it was destined to come out before long.
Some short period after the above events, and Miss Rebecca Sharp still remaining at her patroness’s house in Park Lane, Sir Pitt was a widower again.
The news of Lady Crawley’s death provoked no more grief or comment than might have been expected in Miss Crawley’s family circle. “I suppose I must put off my party for the 3rd,” Miss Crawley said; and added, after a pause, “I hope my brother will have the decency not to marry again.”
On the morrow, as Rebecca was gazing from the window, she startled Miss Crawley, who was placidly occupied with a French novel, by crying out in an alarmed tone, “Here’s Sir Pitt, Ma’am!”
“My dear, I can’t see him. I won’t see him,” cried out Miss Crawley, and resumed the novel.
“She’s too ill to see you, sir,” Rebecca said, tripping down to Sir Pitt.
“So much the better,” Sir Pitt answered. “I want to see YOU, Miss Becky. Come along with me into the parlour,” and they entered that apartment together.
“I want you back at Queen’s Crawley, Miss,” the baronet said, fixing his eyes upon her.
“I hope to come soon,” she said in a low voice, “as soon as Miss Crawley is better – and return to – to the dear children.”
“You’ve said so these three months, Becky,” replied Sir Pitt. “Will you come back? Yes or no?”
“I daren’t – I don’t think – it would be right – to be alone – with you, sir,” Becky said, seemingly in great agitation.
“I say again, I want you,” Sir Pitt said, thumping the table. “I can’t get on without you. The house all goes wrong. It’s not the same place. You MUST come back. Do come back. Dear Becky, do come.”
“Come – as what, sir?” Rebecca gasped out.
“Come as Lady Crawley, if you like,” the Baronet said.
“Oh, Sir Pitt!” Rebecca said, very much moved.
“Say yes, Becky,” Sir Pitt continued. “I’m an old man, but a good one. I’ll make you happy.”
Rebecca wept some of the most genuine tears that ever fell from her eyes.
“Oh, Sir Pitt!” she said. “Oh, sir – I–I’m married ALREADY.”
8
“Generosity be hanged![14]” Sir Pitt roared out. “Who is it to, then, you’re married? Where was it?”
“Let me come back with you to the country, sir! Let me watch over you as faithfully as ever! Don’t, don’t separate me from dear Queen’s Crawley!”
“The feller has left you, has he?” the Baronet said, beginning, as he fancied, to comprehend. “Well, Becky – come back if you like.
“Oh, sir! it would be the pride of my life to go back to Queen’s Crawley, and take care of the children, and of you as formerly, when you said you were pleased with the services of your little Rebecca. I can’t be your wife, sir; let me – let me be your daughter.” Saying which, Rebecca went down on HER knees in a most tragical way.
Miss Crawley was astonished by Becky’s rejection of Sir Pitt. “Nonsense, my dear, you would never have refused him had there not been someone else in the case,” Miss Crawley said, coming to her point at once. “Tell me the private reasons. There is someone; who is it that has touched your heart?”
Rebecca cast down her eyes. “You have guessed right, dear lady,” she said.
“My poor dear child,” cried Miss Crawley, who was always quite ready to be sentimental, “Tell me all, and let me console you.”
“I wish you could, dear Madam,” Rebecca said in the same tearful tone. And she laid her head upon Miss Crawley’s shoulder and wept there so naturally that the old lady, surprised into sympathy, embraced her with an almost maternal kindness. Rebecca wrote a letter later that day promising to her recipient that she would make the Old Miss Crawley adopt her and provide them a happy life and inheritance.
And the person who used to fetch these letters was indeed no other than Captain Rawdon Crawley.
9
When, then, Becky told the Captain, that the great crisis was near, and the time for action had arrived, Rawdon expressed himself as ready to act under her orders. They rented a flat not far from Miss Crawley. And soon came the day when Rebecca eloped leaving a letter in which she heartedly explained the truth. Old Miss Crawley and Sir Pitt were infuriated to learn that the happy husband was their Rawdon.
The old aunt was long in “coming-to.”[15] A month had elapsed. Rawdon was denied the door, his letters were sent back unopened. Miss Crawley never stirred.
Still Rebecca was in a good mood buying things for her home and being a good wife to her captain. One day they went to an auction at a rather familiar house looking for a piano. The sale was at the old house in Russell Square, where we passed some evenings together at the beginning of this story.
Good old John Sedley was a ruined man. His name had been proclaimed as a defaulter on the Stock Exchange, and his bankruptcy and commercial extermination followed. They had to leave their house and move to a modest one. Amelia was severely unhappy. When the great crash came – the announcement of ruin, and the departure from Russell Square, and the declaration that all was over between her and George – all over between her and love, her and happiness, her and faith in the world, Amelia took the news with great sadness and patience. To death she looked with inexpressible longing. Then, she thought, I shall always be able to follow him.
Captain Dobbin couldn’t stay away from her troubles. He bought a piano at the auction and brought it to Amelia. He spoke to her and comforted her. Dobbin assured Amelia that the piano was the farewell present from Osborne.
Three days afterwards, Dobbin found Osborne in his room at the barracks.
“She – she’s sent me back some things I gave her. Look here!” There was a little packet directed in the well-known hand to Captain George Osborne, and some things lying about – a ring, a silver knife he had bought, as a boy, for her at a fair; a gold chain, and a locket with hair in it.
“It’s all over,” said he, with a groan of sickening remorse. “Look, Will, you may read it if you like.”
There was a little letter of a few lines, to which he pointed, which said:
My papa has ordered me to return to you these presents, which you made in happier days to me; and I am to write to you for the last time. Farewell. I pray God to strengthen me to bear this, and to bless you always. A. I shall often play upon the piano