—no, I mean—my dear Miss Osborne, it's about our dear friend George," Dobbin said.

About George?" she said in a tone so discomfited that Maria and Miss Wirt laughed at the other side of the door, and even that abandoned wretch of a Dobbin felt inclined to smile himself; for he was not altogether unconscious of the state of affairs: George having often bantered him gracefully and said, "Hang it, Will, why don't you take old Jane? She'll have you if you ask her. I'll bet you five to two she will.'

"Yes, about George, then," he continued. "There has been a difference between him and Mr. Osborne. And I regard him so much-for you know we have been like brothers-that I hope and pray the quarrel may be settled. We must go abroad, Miss Osborne. We may be ordered off at a day's warning. Who knows what may happen in the campaign? Don't be agitated, dear Miss Osborne; and those two at least should part friends."

little usual scene with What papa wanted was will be well; and dear

"There has been no quarrel, Captain Dobbin, except a papa," the lady said. "We are expecting George back daily. only for his good. He has but to come back, and I'm sure all Rhoda, who went away from here in sad, sad anger, I know will forgive him. forgives but too readily, captain."

Woman

"Such an angel as you I am sure would," Mr. Dobbin said, with atrocious astuteness. "And no man can pardon himself for giving a woman pain. What would you feel if a man were faithless to you?"

"I should perish-I should throw myself out of window-I should take poison-I should pine and die. I know I should," Miss cried, who had nevertheless gone through one or two affairs of the heart without any idea of suicide.

"And there are others," Dobbin continued, “as true and as kind-hearted as yourself. I'm not speaking about the West-Indian heiress, Miss Osborne, but about a poor girl whom George once loved, and who was bred from her childhood to think of nobody but him. I've seen her in her poverty uncomplaining, broken-hearted, without a fault. It is of Miss Sedley I speak. Dear Miss Osborne, can your generous heart quarrel with your brother for being faithful to her? Could his own conscience ever forgive him if he deserted her? Be her friend- she always loved you-and-and I am come here charged by George to tell you that he holds his engagement to her as the most sacred duty he has, and to entreat you, at least, to be on his side."

When any strong emotion took possession of Mr. Dobbin, and after the first word or two of hesitation, he could speak with perfect fluency, and it was evident that his eloquence on this occasion made some impression upon the lady whom he addressed.

"Well," said she, "this is-most surprising-most painful-most extraordinary— what will papa say?-that George should fling away such a superb establishment as was offered to him; but at any rate he has found a very brave champion in you, Captain Dobbin. It is of no use, however," she continued, after a pause; I feel for poor Miss Sedley, most certainly-most sincerely, you know. We never thought the match a good one, though we were always very kind to her here-very. But papa will never consent, I am sure. And a well-brought-up young woman, you know, with a well-regulated mind, must-George must give her up, dear Captain Dobbin, indeed he must.

Ought a man to give up the woman he loved, just when misfortune befell her?" Dobbin said, holding out his hand. "Dear Miss Osborne, is this the counsel I hear from you? My dear young lady, you must befriend her. He can't give her up. He must not give her up. Would a man, think you, give you up if you were poor?"

"I don't

This adroit question touched the heart of Miss Jane Osborne not a little. know whether we poor girls ought to believe what you men say, captain, " she said. "There is that in woman's tenderness which induces her to believe too easily. I'm afraid you are cruel, cruel deceivers"-and Dobbin certainly thought he felt a pressure of the hand which Miss Osborne had extended to him.

He dropped it in some alarm. "Deceivers!" said he. "No, dear Miss Osborne, all men are not; your brother is not; George has loved Amelia Sedley ever since they were children; no wealth would make him marry any but her. Ought he to forsake her? Would you counsel him to do so?"

What could Miss Jane say to such a question, and with her own peculiar views? She could not answer it, so she parried it by saying, "Well, if you are not a deceiver, at least you are very romantic ;" and Captain William let this observation pass without challenge.

At length when, by the help of further polite speeches, he deemed that Miss Osborne was sufficiently prepared to receive the whole news, he poured it into her ear. "George could not give up Amelia-George was married to her"-and then he related the circumstances of the marriage as we know them already; how the poor girl would

have died had not her lover kept his faith; how old Sedley had refused all consent to the match, and a license had been got, and Jos Sedley had come from Cheltenham to give away the bride; how they had gone to Brighton in Jos's chariot-and-four to pass the honeymoon; and how George counted on his dear, kind sisters to befriend him with their father, as women-so true and tender as they were-assuredly would do. And so, asking permission (readily granted) to see her again, and rightly conjecturing that the news he had brought would be told in the next five minutes to the other ladies, Captain Dobbin made his bow and took his leave.

He was scarcely out of the house when Miss Maria and Miss Wirt rushed in to Miss Osborne, and the whole wonderful secret was imparted to them by that lady. To do them justice, neither of the sisters was very much displeased. There is something about a runaway match with which few ladies can be seriously angry, and Amelia rather rose in their estimation, from the spirit which she had displayed in consenting to the union. As they debated the story, and prattled about it, and wondered what papa would do and say, came a loud knock, as of an avenging thunder-clap, at the door, which made these conspirators start. It must be papa, they thought. But it was not he. It was only Mr. Frederick Bullock, who had come from the City, according to appointment, to conduct the ladies to a flower-show.

This gentleman, as may be imagined, was not kept long in ignorance of the secret. But his face, when he heard it, showed an amazement which was very different to that look of sentimental wonder which the countenances of the sisters wore. Mr. Bullock was a man of the world, and a junior partner of a wealthy firm. He knew what money was, and the value of it; and a delightful throb of expectation lighted up his little eyes and caused him to smile on his Maria, as he thought that by this piece of folly of Mr. George's she might be worth thirty thousand pounds more than he had ever hoped to get with her.

"Gad, Jane," said he, surveying even the elder sister with some interest, "Els will be sorry he cried off. You may be a fifty thousand pounder yet."

The sisters had never thought of the money question up to that moment, but Fred Bullock bantered them with graceful gayety about it during their forenoon's excursion; and they had risen not a little in their own esteem by the time when, the morning amusement over, they drove back to dinner. And do not let my respected reader exclaim against this selfishness as unnatural. It was but this present morning, as he rode on the omnibus from Richmond; while it changed horses, this present chronicler, being on the roof, marked three little children playing in a puddle below, very dirty, and friendly, and happy. To these three presently came another little one. Polly," says she, "your sister's got a penny." At which the children got up from the puddle instantly, and ran off to pay their court to Peggy. And as the omnibus drove off I saw Peggy with the infantine procession at her tail, marching with great dignity toward the stall of a neighboring lollipop-woman.

46

CHAPTER XXIV.

IN WHICH MR. OSBORNE TAKES DOWN THE FAMILY BIBLE.

O, having prepared the sisters, Dobbin hastened away to the City to perform the rest and more difficult part of the task which he had undertaken. The idea of facing old Osborne rendered him not a little nervous, and more than once he thought of leaving the young ladies to communicate the secret, which, as he was aware, they could not long retain. But he had promised to report to George upon the manner in which the elder Osborne bore the intelligence; so going into the City to the paternal counting-house in Thames Street, he dispatched thence a note to Mr. Osborne begging for a halfhour's conversation relative to the affairs of his son George. Dobbin's messenger returned from Mr. Osborne's house of business, with the compliments of the latter, who would be very happy to see the captain immediately, and away accordingly Dobbin went to confront him.

The captain, with a half-guilty secret to confess, and with the prospect of a painful and stormy interview before him, entered Mr. Osborne's offices with a most dismal countenance and abashed gait, and, passing through the outer room where Mr. Chopper

presided, was greeted by that functionary from his desk with a waggish air which further discomfited him. Mr. Chopper winked and nodded and pointed his pen toward his patron's door, and said, "You'll find the governor all right," with the most provoking good humor.

Osborne rose too, and shook him heartily by the hand, and said, "How do, my dear boy?" with a cordiality that made poor George's ambassador feel doubly guilty. His hand lay as if dead in the old gentleman's grasp. He felt that he, Dobbin, was more or less the cause of all that had happened. It was he had brought back George to Amelia ; it was he had applauded, encouraged, transacted almost the marriage which he was come to reveal to George's father; and the latter was receiving him with smiles of welcome; patting him on the shoulder, and calling him "Dobbin, my dear boy." The envoy had indeed good reason to hang his head.

Osborne fully believed that Dobbin had come to announce his son's surrender. Mr. Chopper and his principal were talking over the matter between George and his father at the very moment when Dobbin's messenger arrived. Both agreed that George was sending in his submission. Both had been expecting it for some days-and "Lord! Chopper, what a marriage we'll have!" Mr. Osborne said to his clerk, snapping his big fingers, and jingling all the guineas and shillings in his great pockets as he eyed his subordinate with a look of triumph.

With similar operations conducted in both pockets, and a knowing jolly air, Osborne from his chair regarded Dobbin seated blank and silent opposite to him. "What a bumpkin he is for a captain in the army," old Osborne thought. "I wonder George hasn't taught him better manners."'

At last Dobbin summoned courage to begin. "Sir," said he, "I've brought you some very grave news. I have been at the Horse Guards this morning, and there's no doubt that our regiment will be ordered abroad, and on its way to Belgium before the week is over. And you know, sir, that we shan't be home again before a tussle which may be fatal to many of us.' Osborne looked grave.

he said.

"My s, the regiment will do its duty, sir, I dare say,'

"The French are very strong, sir," Dobbin went on. "The Russians and Austrians will be a long time before they can bring their troops down. We shall have the first of the fight, sir; and depend on it Boney will take care that it shall be a hard one."

66

What are you driving at, Dobbin ?" his interlocutor said, uneasy and with a scowl. "I suppose no Briton's afraid of any d—— Frenchman, hey?"

I only mean, that before we go, and considering the great and certain risk that hangs over every one of us-if there are any differences between you and George-it would be as well, sir, that-that you should shake hands; wouldn't it? Should anything happen to him, I think you would never forgive yourself if you hadn't parted in charity.

As he said this, poor William Dobbin blushed crimson, and felt and owned that he himself was a traitor. But for him, perhaps, this severance need never have taken place. Why had not George's marriage been delayed? What call was there to press it on so eagerly? He felt that George would have parted from Amelia at any rate without a mortal pang. Amelia, too, might have recovered the shock of losing him. It was his counsel had brought about this marriage, and all that was to ensue from it. And why was it? Because he loved her so much that he could not bear to see her unhappy ; or because his own sufferings of suspense were so unendurable that he was glad to crush them at once-as we hasten a funeral after a death, or, when a separation from those we love is imminent, cannot rest until the parting be over.

You are a good fellow, William," said Mr. Osborne in a softened voice;" and me and George shouldn't part in anger, that is true. Look here. I've done for him as much as any father ever did. He's had three times as much money from me as I warrant your father ever gave you. But I don't brag about that. How I've toiled for him, and worked and employed my talents and energy, I won't say. Ask Chopper. Ask himself. Ask the City of London. Well, I propose to him such a marriage as any nobleman in the land might be proud of-the only thing in life I ever asked him-and he refuses me. Am I wrong? Is the quarrel of my making? What do I seek but his good, for which I've been toiling like a convict ever since he was born? Nobody can say there's anything selfish in me. Let him come back. I say, here's my hand. Í say, forget and forgive. As for marrying now, it's out of the question. Let him and Miss S. make it up, and make out the marriage afterward, when he comes back a colonel ; for he shall be a colonel, by G- he shall, if money can do it. I'm glad you've brought him round. I know it's you, Dobbin. You've took him out of many a scrape before.

Let him come. I shan't be hard.

Come along, and dine in Russell Square to-day :
You'll find a neck of venison, and no ques-

both of you. The old shop, the old hour. tions asked."

46

This praise and confidence smote Dobbin's heart very keenly. Every moment the colloquy continued in this tone, he felt more and more guilty. Sir," said he, "I fear you deceive yourself. I am sure you do. George is much too high-minded a man ever to marry for money. A threat on your part that you would disinherit him in case of disobedience would only be followed by resistance on his."

"Why, hang it, man, you don't call offering him eight or ten thousand a year threatening him?" Mr. Osborne said, with still provoking good humor. "'Gad, if Miss S. will have me, I'm her man. Ia'n't particular about a shade or so of tawny." And the old gentleman gave his knowing grin and coarse laugh.

"You forget, sir, previous engagements into which Captain Osborne had entered," the ambassador said gravely.

"What engagements? What the devil do you mean? You don't mean," Mr. Osborne continued, gathering wrath and astonishment as the thought now first came upon him—" you don't mean that he's such a d―― fool as to be still hankering after that swindling old bankrupt's daughter? You've not come here for to make me suppose that he wants to marry her? Marry her, that is a good one. My son and heir marry a beggar's girl out of a gutter! D-- him, if he does, let him buy a broom and sweep a crossing. She was always dangling and ogling after him, I recollect now; and I've no doubt she was put on by her old sharper of a father."

"Mr. Sedley was your very good friend, sir," Dobbin interposed, almost pleased at finding himself growing angry. "Time was you called him better names than rogue and swindler. The match was of your making. George had no right to play fast and loose-"

"Fast and loose!" howled out old Osborne. "Fast and loose! Why, hang me, those are the very words my gentleman used himself when he gave himself airs, last Thursday was a fortnight, and talked about the British army to his father who made him. What, it's you who have been a setting of him up-is it? and my service to you, captain. It's you who want to introduce beggars into my family. Thank you for nothing, captain. Marry her indeed-he, he! why should he? I warrant you she'd go to him fast enough without."

44

"Sir," said Dobbin, starting up in undisguised anger; no man shall abuse that lady in my hearing, and you least of all."

"Oh, you're a going to call me out, are you? Stop, let me ring the bell for pistols for two. Mr. George sent you here to insult his father, did he ?" Osborne said, pulling at the bell-cord.

"Mr. Osborne," said Dobbin, with a faltering voice, "it's you who are insulting the best creature in the world. You had best spare her, sir, for she's your son's wife.' And with this, feeling that he could say no more, Dobbin went away, Osborne sinking back in his chair, and looking wildly after him. A clerk came in, obedient to the bell; and the captain was scarcely out of the court where Mr. Osborne's offices were, when Mr. Chopper, the chief clerk, came rushing hatless after him.

'For God's sake, what is it?" Mr. Chopper said, catching the captain by the skirt. 'The governor's in a fit. What has Mr. George been doing?"

He married Miss Sedley five days ago," Dobbin replied. "I was his groomsman,

Mr. Chopper, and you must stand his friend."

The old clerk shook his head. "If that's your news, captain, it's bad. ernor will never forgive him."

The gov

Dobbin begged Chopper to report progress to him at the hotel where he was stopping, and walked off moodily westward, greatly perturbed as to the past and the future. When the Russell Square family came to dinner that evening, they found the father of the house seated in his usual place, but with that air of gloom on his face_which, whenever it appeared there, kept the whole circle silent. The ladies, and Mr. Bullock, who dined with them, felt that the news had been communicated to Mr. Osborne. dark looks affected Mr. Bullock so far as to render him still and quiet; but he was unusually bland and attentive to Miss Maria, by whom he sat, and to her sister presiding at the head of the table.

His

Miss Wirt, by consequence, was alone on her side of the board, a gap being left between her and Miss Jane Osborne. Now this was George's place when he dined at home; and his cover, as we said, was laid for him in expectation of that truant's rcturn. Nothing occurred during dinner-time except smiling Mr. Frederick's flagging, confidential whispers, and the clinking of plate and china, to interrupt the silence of the repast. The servants went about stealthily doing their duty. Mutes at funerals could

not look more glum than the domestics of Mr. Osborne.

The neck of venison of which he had invited Dobbin to partake was carved by him in perfect silence; but his own share went away almost untasted, though he drank much, and the butler assiduously filled his glass.

At last, just at the end of the dinner, his eyes, which had been staring at everybody in turn, fixed themselves for a while upon the plate laid for George. He pointed to it presently with his left hand. His daughters looked at him and did not comprehend, or choose to comprehend, the signal; nor did the servants at first understand it.

"Take that plate away, at last he said, getting up with an oath; and with this, pushing his chair back, he walked into his own room.

Behind Mr. Osborne's dining-room was the usual apartment which went in his house by the name of the study, and was sacred to the master of the house. Hither Mr. Osborne would retire of a Sunday forenoon when not minded to go to church, and here pass the morning in his crimson-leather chair, reading the paper. A couple of glazed bookcases were here, containing standard works in stout gilt bindings. The Annual Register," the "Gentleman's Magazine," "Blair's Sermons," and "Hume and Smollett. From year's end to year's end he never took one of these volumes from the shelf; but there was no member of the family that would dare for his life to touch one of the books, except upon those rare Sunday evenings when there was no dinnerparty, and when the great scarlet Bible and Prayer-book were taken out from the corner where they stood beside his copy of the Peerage, and the servants being rung up to the dining-parlor, Osborne read the evening service to his family in a loud, grating, pompous voice. No member of the household, child or domestic, ever entered that room without a certain terror. Here he checked the housekeeper's accounts, and overhauled the butler's cellar-book. Hence he could command, across the clean gravel courtyard, the back entrance of the stables with which one of his bells communicated, and into this yard the coachman issued from his premises as into a dock, and Osborne swore at him from the study-window. Four times a year Miss Wirt entered this apartment to get her salary, and his daughters to receive their quarterly allowance. George as a boy had been horsewhipped in this room many times; his mother sitting sick on the stair listening to the cuts of the whip. The boy was scarcely ever known to cry under the punishment; the poor woman used to fondle and kiss him secretly, and give him money to soothe him when he came out.

There was a picture of the family over the mantelpiece, removed thither from the front room after Mrs. Osborne's death-George was on a pony, the elder sister holding him up a bunch of flowers; the younger led by her mother's hand; all with red cheeks and large red mouths, simpering on each other in the approved family-portrait manner. The mother lay underground now, long since forgotten--the sisters and brother had a hundred different interests of their own, and, familiar still, were utterly estranged from each other. Some few score of years afterward, when all the parties represented are grown old, what bitter satire there is in those flaunting childish family-portraits, with their farce of sentiment and smiling lies, and innocence so seif-conscious and self-satisfied! Osborne's own state portrait, with that of his great silver inkstand and arm-chair, had taken the place of honor in the dining-room, vacated by the family-piece.

To this study old Osborne retired then, greatly to the relief of the small party whom he left. When the servants had withdrawn, they began to talk for a while volubly but very low; then they went up-stairs quietly, Mr. Bullock accompanying them stealthily on his creaking shoes. He had no heart to sit alone drinking wine, and so close to the terrible old gentleman in the study hard at hand.

An hour at least after dark, the butler, not having received any summons, ventured to tap at his door and take him in wax candles and tea. The master of the house sat in his chair, pretending to read the paper, and when the servant, placing the lights and refreshment on the table by him, retired, Mr. Osborne got up and locked the door after him. This time there was no mistaking the matter; all the household knew that some great catastrophe was going to happen which was likely direly to affect Master George. In the large shining mahogany escritoire Mr. Osborne had a drawer especially devoted to his son's affairs and papers. Here he kept all the documents relating to him ever since he had been a boy; here were his prize copy-books and drawing-books, all bearing George's hand, and that of the master; here were his first letters in large round hand, sending his love to papa and mamma, and conveying his petitions for a cake. His dear godpapa Sedley was more than once mentioned in them. Curses quivered on old Osborne's livid lips, and horrid hatred and disappointment writhed in his heart, as looking through some of these papers he came on that name. They were all marked and docketed, and tied with red tape. It was-" From Georgy, requesting 5s., April 23d, 18—; answered, April 25th"-or "Georgy about a pony, October 13th"-and so forth.

In