About this time there drove up to an exceedingly snug andwell-appointed house in Park Lane, a travelling chariot with a lozenge onthe panels, a discontented female in a green veil and crimped curls onthe rumble, and a large and confidential man on the box. It was theequipage of our friend Miss Crawley, returning from Hants. Thecarriage windows were shut; the fat spaniel, whose head and tongueordinarily lolled out of one of them, reposed on the lap of thediscontented female. When the vehicle stopped, a large round bundle ofshawls was taken out of the carriage by the aid of various domesticsand a young lady who accompanied the heap of cloaks. That bundlecontained Miss Crawley, who was conveyed upstairs forthwith, and putinto a bed and chamber warmed properly as for the reception of aninvalid. Messengers went off for her physician and medical man. Theycame, consulted, prescribed, vanished. The young companion of MissCrawley, at the conclusion of their interview, came in to receive theirinstructions, and administered those antiphlogistic medicines which theeminent men ordered.

Captain Crawley of the Life Guards rode up from Knightsbridge Barracksthe next day; his black charger pawed the straw before his invalidaunt's door. He was most affectionate in his inquiries regarding thatamiable relative. There seemed to be much source of apprehension. Hefound Miss Crawley's maid (the discontented female) unusually sulky anddespondent; he found Miss Briggs, her dame de compagnie, in tears alonein the drawing-room. She had hastened home, hearing of her belovedfriend's illness. She wished to fly to her couch, that couch whichshe, Briggs, had so often smoothed in the hour of sickness. She wasdenied admission to Miss Crawley's apartment. A stranger wasadministering her medicines--a stranger from the country--an odiousMiss ... --tears choked the utterance of the dame de compagnie, andshe buried her crushed affections and her poor old red nose in herpocket handkerchief.

Rawdon Crawley sent up his name by the sulky femme de chambre, and MissCrawley's new companion, coming tripping down from the sick-room, puta little hand into his as he stepped forward eagerly to meet her, gavea glance of great scorn at the bewildered Briggs, and beckoning theyoung Guardsman out of the back drawing-room, led him downstairs intothat now desolate dining-parlour, where so many a good dinner had beencelebrated.

Here these two talked for ten minutes, discussing, no doubt, thesymptoms of the old invalid above stairs; at the end of which periodthe parlour bell was rung briskly, and answered on that instant by Mr.Bowls, Miss Crawley's large confidential butler (who, indeed, happenedto be at the keyhole during the most part of the interview); and theCaptain coming out, curling his mustachios, mounted the black chargerpawing among the straw, to the admiration of the little blackguard boyscollected in the street. He looked in at the dining-room window,managing his horse, which curvetted and capered beautifully--for oneinstant the young person might be seen at the window, when her figurevanished, and, doubtless, she went upstairs again to resume theaffecting duties of benevolence.

Who could this young woman be, I wonder? That evening a little dinnerfor two persons was laid in the dining-room--when Mrs. Firkin, thelady's maid, pushed into her mistress's apartment, and bustled aboutthere during the vacancy occasioned by the departure of the newnurse--and the latter and Miss Briggs sat down to the neat little meal.

Briggs was so much choked by emotion that she could hardly take amorsel of meat. The young person carved a fowl with the utmostdelicacy, and asked so distinctly for egg-sauce, that poor Briggs,before whom that delicious condiment was placed, started, made a greatclattering with the ladle, and once more fell back in the most gushinghysterical state.

"Had you not better give Miss Briggs a glass of wine?" said the personto Mr. Bowls, the large confidential man. He did so. Briggs seized itmechanically, gasped it down convulsively, moaned a little, and beganto play with the chicken on her plate.

"I think we shall be able to help each other," said the person withgreat suavity: "and shall have no need of Mr. Bowls's kind services.Mr. Bowls, if you please, we will ring when we want you." He wentdownstairs, where, by the way, he vented the most horrid curses uponthe unoffending footman, his subordinate.

"It is a pity you take on so, Miss Briggs," the young lady said, with acool, slightly sarcastic, air.

"My dearest friend is so ill, and wo-o-on't see me," gurgled out Briggsin an agony of renewed grief.

"She's not very ill any more. Console yourself, dear Miss Briggs. Shehas only overeaten herself--that is all. She is greatly better. Shewill soon be quite restored again. She is weak from being cupped andfrom medical treatment, but she will rally immediately. Pray consoleyourself, and take a little more wine."

"But why, why won't she see me again?" Miss Briggs bleated out. "Oh,Matilda, Matilda, after three-and-twenty years' tenderness! is this thereturn to your poor, poor Arabella?"

"Don't cry too much, poor Arabella," the other said (with ever solittle of a grin); "she only won't see you, because she says you don'tnurse her as well as I do. It's no pleasure to me to sit up all night.I wish you might do it instead."

"Have I not tended that dear couch for years?" Arabella said, "andnow--"

"Now she prefers somebody else. Well, sick people have these fancies,and must be humoured. When she's well I shall go."

"Never, never," Arabella exclaimed, madly inhaling her salts-bottle.

"Never be well or never go, Miss Briggs?" the other said, with the sameprovoking good-nature. "Pooh--she will be well in a fortnight, when Ishall go back to my little pupils at Queen's Crawley, and to theirmother, who is a great deal more sick than our friend. You need not bejealous about me, my dear Miss Briggs. I am a poor little girl withoutany friends, or any harm in me. I don't want to supplant you in MissCrawley's good graces. She will forget me a week after I am gone: andher affection for you has been the work of years. Give me a littlewine if you please, my dear Miss Briggs, and let us be friends. I'msure I want friends."

The placable and soft-hearted Briggs speechlessly pushed out her handat this appeal; but she felt the desertion most keenly for all that,and bitterly, bitterly moaned the fickleness of her Matilda. At the endof half an hour, the meal over, Miss Rebecca Sharp (for such,astonishing to state, is the name of her who has been describedingeniously as "the person" hitherto), went upstairs again to herpatient's rooms, from which, with the most engaging politeness, sheeliminated poor Firkin. "Thank you, Mrs. Firkin, that will quite do;how nicely you make it! I will ring when anything is wanted." "Thankyou"; and Firkin came downstairs in a tempest of jealousy, only themore dangerous because she was forced to confine it in her own bosom.

Could it be the tempest which, as she passed the landing of the firstfloor, blew open the drawing-room door? No; it was stealthily opened bythe hand of Briggs. Briggs had been on the watch. Briggs too well heardthe creaking Firkin descend the stairs, and the clink of the spoon andgruel-basin the neglected female carried.

"Well, Firkin?" says she, as the other entered the apartment. "Well,Jane?"

"Wuss and wuss, Miss B.," Firkin said, wagging her head.

"Is she not better then?"

"She never spoke but once, and I asked her if she felt a little moreeasy, and she told me to hold my stupid tongue. Oh, Miss B., I neverthought to have seen this day!" And the water-works again began toplay.

"What sort of a person is this Miss Sharp, Firkin? I little thought,while enjoying my Christmas revels in the elegant home of my firmfriends, the Reverend Lionel Delamere and his amiable lady, to find astranger had taken my place in the affections of my dearest, my stilldearest Matilda!" Miss Briggs, it will be seen by her language, was ofa literary and sentimental turn, and had once published a volume ofpoems--"Trills of the Nightingale"--by subscription.

"Miss B., they are all infatyated about that young woman," Firkinreplied. "Sir Pitt wouldn't have let her go, but he daredn't refuseMiss Crawley anything. Mrs. Bute at the Rectory jist as bad--neverhappy out of her sight. The Capting quite wild about her. Mr. Crawleymortial jealous. Since Miss C. was took ill, she won't have nobody nearher but Miss Sharp, I can't tell for where nor for why; and I thinksomethink has bewidged everybody."

Rebecca passed that night in constant watching upon Miss Crawley; thenext night the old lady slept so comfortably, that Rebecca had time forseveral hours' comfortable repose herself on the sofa, at the foot ofher patroness's bed; very soon, Miss Crawley was so well that she satup and laughed heartily at a perfect imitation of Miss Briggs and hergrief, which Rebecca described to her. Briggs' weeping snuffle, and hermanner of using the handkerchief, were so completely rendered that MissCrawley became quite cheerful, to the admiration of the doctors whenthey visited her, who usually found this worthy woman of the world,when the least sickness attacked her, under the most abject depressionand terror of death.

Captain Crawley came every day, and received bulletins from MissRebecca respecting his aunt's health. This improved so rapidly, thatpoor Briggs was allowed to see her patroness; and persons with tenderhearts may imagine the smothered emotions of that sentimental female,and the affecting nature of the interview.

Miss Crawley liked to have Briggs in a good deal soon. Rebecca used tomimic her to her face with the most admirable gravity, therebyrendering the imitation doubly piquant to her worthy patroness.

The causes which had led to the deplorable illness of Miss Crawley, andher departure from her brother's house in the country, were of such anunromantic nature that they are hardly fit to be explained in thisgenteel and sentimental novel. For how is it possible to hint of adelicate female, living in good society, that she ate and drank toomuch, and that a hot supper of lobsters profusely enjoyed at theRectory was the reason of an indisposition which Miss Crawley herselfpersisted was solely attributable to the dampness of the weather? Theattack was so sharp that Matilda--as his Reverence expressed it--wasvery nearly "off the hooks"; all the family were in a fever ofexpectation regarding the will, and Rawdon Crawley was making sure ofat least forty thousand pounds before the commencement of the Londonseason. Mr. Crawley sent over a choice parcel of tracts, to prepareher for the change from Vanity Fair and Park Lane for another world;but a good doctor from Southampton being called in in time, vanquishedthe lobster which was so nearly fatal to her, and gave her sufficientstrength to enable her to return to London. The Baronet did notdisguise his exceeding mortification at the turn which affairs took.

While everybody was attending on Miss Crawley, and messengers everyhour from the Rectory were carrying news of her health to theaffectionate folks there, there was a lady in another part of thehouse, being exceedingly ill, of whom no one took any notice at all;and this was the lady of Crawley herself. The good doctor shook hishead after seeing her; to which visit Sir Pitt consented, as it couldbe paid without a fee; and she was left fading away in her lonelychamber, with no more heed paid to her than to a weed in the park.

The young ladies, too, lost much of the inestimable benefit of theirgoverness's instruction, So affectionate a nurse was Miss Sharp, thatMiss Crawley would take her medicines from no other hand. Firkin hadbeen deposed long before her mistress's departure from the country.That faithful attendant found a gloomy consolation on returning toLondon, in seeing Miss Briggs suffer the same pangs of jealousy andundergo the same faithless treatment to which she herself had beensubject.

Captain Rawdon got an extension of leave on his aunt's illness, andremained dutifully at home. He was always in her antechamber. (Shelay sick in the state bedroom, into which you entered by the littleblue saloon.) His father was always meeting him there; or if he camedown the corridor ever so quietly, his father's door was sure to open,and the hyena face of the old gentleman to glare out. What was it setone to watch the other so? A generous rivalry, no doubt, as to whichshould be most attentive to the dear sufferer in the state bedroom.Rebecca used to come out and comfort both of them; or one or the otherof them rather. Both of these worthy gentlemen were most anxious tohave news of the invalid from her little confidential messenger.

At dinner--to which meal she descended for half an hour--she kept thepeace between them: after which she disappeared for the night; whenRawdon would ride over to the depot of the 150th at Mudbury, leavinghis papa to the society of Mr. Horrocks and his rum and water. Shepassed as weary a fortnight as ever mortal spent in Miss Crawley'ssick-room; but her little nerves seemed to be of iron, as she was quiteunshaken by the duty and the tedium of the sick-chamber.

She never told until long afterwards how painful that duty was; howpeevish a patient was the jovial old lady; how angry; how sleepless; inwhat horrors of death; during what long nights she lay moaning, and inalmost delirious agonies respecting that future world which she quiteignored when she was in good health.--Picture to yourself, oh fairyoung reader, a worldly, selfish, graceless, thankless, religionlessold woman, writhing in pain and fear, and without her wig. Picture herto yourself, and ere you be old, learn to love and pray!

Sharp watched this graceless bedside with indomitable patience. Nothingescaped her; and, like a prudent steward, she found a use foreverything. She told many a good story about Miss Crawley's illness inafter days--stories which made the lady blush through her artificialcarnations. During the illness she was never out of temper; alwaysalert; she slept light, having a perfectly clear conscience; and couldtake that refreshment at almost any minute's warning. And so you sawvery few traces of fatigue in her appearance. Her face might be atrifle paler, and the circles round her eyes a little blacker thanusual; but whenever she came out from the sick-room she was alwayssmiling, fresh, and neat, and looked as trim in her littledressing-gown and cap, as in her smartest evening suit.

The Captain thought so, and raved about her in uncouth convulsions. Thebarbed shaft of love had penetrated his dull hide. Sixweeks--appropinquity--opportunity--had victimised him completely. Hemade a confidante of his aunt at the Rectory, of all persons in theworld. She rallied him about it; she had perceived his folly; shewarned him; she finished by owning that little Sharp was the most clever,droll, odd, good-natured, simple, kindly creature in England. Rawdonmust not trifle with her affections, though--dear Miss Crawley wouldnever pardon him for that; for she, too, was quite overcome by the littlegoverness, and loved Sharp like a daughter. Rawdon must go away--goback to his regiment and naughty London, and not play with a poorartless girl's feelings.

Many and many a time this good-natured lady, compassionating theforlorn life-guardsman's condition, gave him an opportunity of seeingMiss Sharp at the Rectory, and of walking home with her, as we haveseen. When men of a certain sort, ladies, are in love, though they seethe hook and the string, and the whole apparatus with which they are tobe taken, they gorge the bait nevertheless--they must come to it--theymust swallow it--and are presently struck and landed gasping. Rawdonsaw there was a manifest intention on Mrs. Bute's part to captivate himwith Rebecca. He was not very wise; but he was a man about town, andhad seen several seasons. A light dawned upon his dusky soul, as hethought, through a speech of Mrs. Bute's.

"Mark my words, Rawdon," she said. "You will have Miss Sharp one dayfor your relation."

"What relation--my cousin, hey, Mrs. Bute? James sweet on her, hey?"inquired the waggish officer.

"More than that," Mrs. Bute said, with a flash from her black eyes.

"Not Pitt? He sha'n't have her. The sneak a'n't worthy of her. He'sbooked to Lady Jane Sheepshanks."

"You men perceive nothing. You silly, blind creature--if anythinghappens to Lady Crawley, Miss Sharp will be your mother-in-law; andthat's what will happen."

Rawdon Crawley, Esquire, gave vent to a prodigious whistle, in token ofastonishment at this announcement. He couldn't deny it. His father'sevident liking for Miss Sharp had not escaped him. He knew the oldgentleman's character well; and a more unscrupulous old--whyou--he didnot conclude the sentence, but walked home, curling his mustachios, andconvinced he had found a clue to Mrs. Bute's mystery.

"By Jove, it's too bad," thought Rawdon, "too bad, by Jove! I dobelieve the woman wants the poor girl to be ruined, in order that sheshouldn't come into the family as Lady Crawley."

When he saw Rebecca alone, he rallied her about his father's attachmentin his graceful way. She flung up her head scornfully, looked him fullin the face, and said,

"Well, suppose he is fond of me. I know he is, and others too. Youdon't think I am afraid of him, Captain Crawley? You don't suppose Ican't defend my own honour," said the little woman, looking as statelyas a queen.

"Oh, ah, why--give you fair warning--look out, you know--that's all,"said the mustachio-twiddler.

"You hint at something not honourable, then?" said she, flashing out.

"O Gad--really--Miss Rebecca," the heavy dragoon interposed.

"Do you suppose I have no feeling of self-respect, because I am poorand friendless, and because rich people have none? Do you think,because I am a governess, I have not as much sense, and feeling, andgood breeding as you gentlefolks in Hampshire? I'm a Montmorency. Doyou suppose a Montmorency is not as good as a Crawley?"

When Miss Sharp was agitated, and alluded to her maternal relatives,she spoke with ever so slight a foreign accent, which gave a greatcharm to her clear ringing voice. "No," she continued, kindling as shespoke to the Captain; "I can endure poverty, but not shame--neglect,but not insult; and insult from--from you."

Her feelings gave way, and she burst into tears.

"Hang it, Miss Sharp--Rebecca--by Jove--upon my soul, I wouldn't for athousand pounds. Stop, Rebecca!"

She was gone. She drove out with Miss Crawley that day. It was beforethe latter's illness. At dinner she was unusually brilliant andlively; but she would take no notice of the hints, or the nods, or theclumsy expostulations of the humiliated, infatuated guardsman.Skirmishes of this sort passed perpetually during the littlecampaign--tedious to relate, and similar in result. The Crawley heavycavalry was maddened by defeat, and routed every day.

If the Baronet of Queen's Crawley had not had the fear of losing hissister's legacy before his eyes, he never would have permitted his deargirls to lose the educational blessings which their invaluablegoverness was conferring upon them. The old house at home seemed adesert without her, so useful and pleasant had Rebecca made herselfthere. Sir Pitt's letters were not copied and corrected; his books notmade up; his household business and manifold schemes neglected, nowthat his little secretary was away. And it was easy to see hownecessary such an amanuensis was to him, by the tenor and spelling ofthe numerous letters which he sent to her, entreating her andcommanding her to return. Almost every day brought a frank from theBaronet, enclosing the most urgent prayers to Becky for her return, orconveying pathetic statements to Miss Crawley, regarding the neglectedstate of his daughters' education; of which documents Miss Crawley tookvery little heed.

Miss Briggs was not formally dismissed, but her place as companion wasa sinecure and a derision; and her company was the fat spaniel in thedrawing-room, or occasionally the discontented Firkin in thehousekeeper's closet. Nor though the old lady would by no means hearof Rebecca's departure, was the latter regularly installed in office inPark Lane. Like many wealthy people, it was Miss Crawley's habit toaccept as much service as she could get from her inferiors; andgood-naturedly to take leave of them when she no longer found themuseful. Gratitude among certain rich folks is scarcely natural or tobe thought of. They take needy people's services as their due. Norhave you, O poor parasite and humble hanger-on, much reason tocomplain! Your friendship for Dives is about as sincere as the returnwhich it usually gets. It is money you love, and not the man; and wereCroesus and his footman to change places you know, you poor rogue, whowould have the benefit of your allegiance.

And I am not sure that, in spite of Rebecca's simplicity and activity,and gentleness and untiring good humour, the shrewd old London lady,upon whom these treasures of friendship were lavished, had not alurking suspicion all the while of her affectionate nurse and friend.It must have often crossed Miss Crawley's mind that nobody doesanything for nothing. If she measured her own feeling towards theworld, she must have been pretty well able to gauge those of the worldtowards herself; and perhaps she reflected that it is the ordinary lotof people to have no friends if they themselves care for nobody.

Well, meanwhile Becky was the greatest comfort and convenience to her,and she gave her a couple of new gowns, and an old necklace and shawl,and showed her friendship by abusing all her intimate acquaintances toher new confidante (than which there can't be a more touching proof ofregard), and meditated vaguely some great future benefit--to marry herperhaps to Clump, the apothecary, or to settle her in some advantageousway of life; or at any rate, to send her back to Queen's Crawley whenshe had done with her, and the full London season had begun.

When Miss Crawley was convalescent and descended to the drawing-room,Becky sang to her, and otherwise amused her; when she was well enoughto drive out, Becky accompanied her. And amongst the drives which theytook, whither, of all places in the world, did Miss Crawley's admirablegood-nature and friendship actually induce her to penetrate, but toRussell Square, Bloomsbury, and the house of John Sedley, Esquire.

Ere that event, many notes had passed, as may be imagined, between thetwo dear friends. During the months of Rebecca's stay in Hampshire,the eternal friendship had (must it be owned?) suffered considerablediminution, and grown so decrepit and feeble with old age as tothreaten demise altogether. The fact is, both girls had their own realaffairs to think of: Rebecca her advance with her employers--Amelia herown absorbing topic. When the two girls met, and flew into eachother's arms with that impetuosity which distinguishes the behaviour ofyoung ladies towards each other, Rebecca performed her part of theembrace with the most perfect briskness and energy. Poor little Ameliablushed as she kissed her friend, and thought she had been guilty ofsomething very like coldness towards her.

Their first interview was but a very short one. Amelia was just readyto go out for a walk. Miss Crawley was waiting in her carriage below,her people wondering at the locality in which they found themselves,and gazing upon honest Sambo, the black footman of Bloomsbury, as oneof the queer natives of the place. But when Amelia came down with herkind smiling looks (Rebecca must introduce her to her friend, MissCrawley was longing to see her, and was too ill to leave hercarriage)--when, I say, Amelia came down, the Park Lane shoulder-knotaristocracy wondered more and more that such a thing could come out ofBloomsbury; and Miss Crawley was fairly captivated by the sweetblushing face of the young lady who came forward so timidly and sogracefully to pay her respects to the protector of her friend.

"What a complexion, my dear! What a sweet voice!" Miss Crawley said, asthey drove away westward after the little interview. "My dear Sharp,your young friend is charming. Send for her to Park Lane, do youhear?" Miss Crawley had a good taste. She liked natural manners--alittle timidity only set them off. She liked pretty faces near her; asshe liked pretty pictures and nice china. She talked of Amelia withrapture half a dozen times that day. She mentioned her to RawdonCrawley, who came dutifully to partake of his aunt's chicken.

Of course, on this Rebecca instantly stated that Amelia was engaged tobe married--to a Lieutenant Osborne--a very old flame.

"Is he a man in a line-regiment?" Captain Crawley asked, rememberingafter an effort, as became a guardsman, the number of the regiment,the --th.

Rebecca thought that was the regiment. "The Captain's name," she said,"was Captain Dobbin."

"A lanky gawky fellow," said Crawley, "tumbles over everybody. I knowhim; and Osborne's a goodish-looking fellow, with large black whiskers?"

"Enormous," Miss Rebecca Sharp said, "and enormously proud of them, Iassure you."

Captain Rawdon Crawley burst into a horse-laugh by way of reply; andbeing pressed by the ladies to explain, did so when the explosion ofhilarity was over. "He fancies he can play at billiards," said he. "Iwon two hundred of him at the Cocoa-Tree. HE play, the young flat!He'd have played for anything that day, but his friend Captain Dobbincarried him off, hang him!"

"Rawdon, Rawdon, don't be so wicked," Miss Crawley remarked, highlypleased.

"Why, ma'am, of all the young fellows I've seen out of the line, Ithink this fellow's the greenest. Tarquin and Deuceace get what moneythey like out of him. He'd go to the deuce to be seen with a lord. Hepays their dinners at Greenwich, and they invite the company."

"And very pretty company too, I dare say."

"Quite right, Miss Sharp. Right, as usual, Miss Sharp. Uncommon prettycompany--haw, haw!" and the Captain laughed more and more, thinking hehad made a good joke.

"Rawdon, don't be naughty!" his aunt exclaimed.

"Well, his father's a City man--immensely rich, they say. Hang thoseCity fellows, they must bleed; and I've not done with him yet, I cantell you. Haw, haw!"

"Fie, Captain Crawley; I shall warn Amelia. A gambling husband!"

"Horrid, ain't he, hey?" the Captain said with great solemnity; andthen added, a sudden thought having struck him: "Gad, I say, ma'am,we'll have him here."

"Is he a presentable sort of a person?" the aunt inquired.

"Presentable?--oh, very well. You wouldn't see any difference,"Captain Crawley answered. "Do let's have him, when you begin to see afew people; and his whatdyecallem--his inamorato--eh, Miss Sharp;that's what you call it--comes. Gad, I'll write him a note, and havehim; and I'll try if he can play piquet as well as billiards. Wheredoes he live, Miss Sharp?"

Miss Sharp told Crawley the Lieutenant's town address; and a few daysafter this conversation, Lieutenant Osborne received a letter, inCaptain Rawdon's schoolboy hand, and enclosing a note of invitationfrom Miss Crawley.

Rebecca despatched also an invitation to her darling Amelia, who, youmay be sure, was ready enough to accept it when she heard that Georgewas to be of the party. It was arranged that Amelia was to spend themorning with the ladies of Park Lane, where all were very kind to her.Rebecca patronised her with calm superiority: she was so much thecleverer of the two, and her friend so gentle and unassuming, that shealways yielded when anybody chose to command, and so took Rebecca'sorders with perfect meekness and good humour. Miss Crawley'sgraciousness was also remarkable. She continued her raptures aboutlittle Amelia, talked about her before her face as if she were a doll,or a servant, or a picture, and admired her with the most benevolentwonder possible. I admire that admiration which the genteel worldsometimes extends to the commonalty. There is no more agreeable objectin life than to see Mayfair folks condescending. Miss Crawley'sprodigious benevolence rather fatigued poor little Amelia, and I am notsure that of the three ladies in Park Lane she did not find honest MissBriggs the most agreeable. She sympathised with Briggs as with allneglected or gentle people: she wasn't what you call a woman of spirit.

George came to dinner--a repast en garcon with Captain Crawley.

The great family coach of the Osbornes transported him to Park Lanefrom Russell Square; where the young ladies, who were not themselvesinvited, and professed the greatest indifference at that slight,nevertheless looked at Sir Pitt Crawley's name in the baronetage; andlearned everything which that work had to teach about the Crawleyfamily and their pedigree, and the Binkies, their relatives, &c., &c.Rawdon Crawley received George Osborne with great frankness andgraciousness: praised his play at billiards: asked him when he wouldhave his revenge: was interested about Osborne's regiment: and wouldhave proposed piquet to him that very evening, but Miss Crawleyabsolutely forbade any gambling in her house; so that the youngLieutenant's purse was not lightened by his gallant patron, for thatday at least. However, they made an engagement for the next,somewhere: to look at a horse that Crawley had to sell, and to try himin the Park; and to dine together, and to pass the evening with somejolly fellows. "That is, if you're not on duty to that pretty MissSedley," Crawley said, with a knowing wink. "Monstrous nice girl, 'ponmy honour, though, Osborne," he was good enough to add. "Lots of tin,I suppose, eh?"

Osborne wasn't on duty; he would join Crawley with pleasure: and thelatter, when they met the next day, praised his new friend'shorsemanship--as he might with perfect honesty--and introduced him tothree or four young men of the first fashion, whose acquaintanceimmensely elated the simple young officer.

"How's little Miss Sharp, by-the-bye?" Osborne inquired of his friendover their wine, with a dandified air. "Good-natured little girl that.Does she suit you well at Queen's Crawley? Miss Sedley liked her a gooddeal last year."

Captain Crawley looked savagely at the Lieutenant out of his littleblue eyes, and watched him when he went up to resume his acquaintancewith the fair governess. Her conduct must have relieved Crawley ifthere was any jealousy in the bosom of that life-guardsman.

When the young men went upstairs, and after Osborne's introduction toMiss Crawley, he walked up to Rebecca with a patronising, easy swagger.He was going to be kind to her and protect her. He would even shakehands with her, as a friend of Amelia's; and saying, "Ah, Miss Sharp!how-dy-doo?" held out his left hand towards her, expecting that shewould be quite confounded at the honour.

Miss Sharp put out her right forefinger, and gave him a little nod, socool and killing, that Rawdon Crawley, watching the operations from theother room, could hardly restrain his laughter as he saw theLieutenant's entire discomfiture; the start he gave, the pause, and theperfect clumsiness with which he at length condescended to take thefinger which was offered for his embrace.

"She'd beat the devil, by Jove!" the Captain said, in a rapture; andthe Lieutenant, by way of beginning the conversation, agreeably askedRebecca how she liked her new place.

"My place?" said Miss Sharp, coolly, "how kind of you to remind me ofit! It's a tolerably good place: the wages are pretty good--not sogood as Miss Wirt's, I believe, with your sisters in Russell Square.How are those young ladies?--not that I ought to ask."

"Why not?" Mr. Osborne said, amazed.

"Why, they never condescended to speak to me, or to ask me into theirhouse, whilst I was staying with Amelia; but we poor governesses, youknow, are used to slights of this sort."

"My dear Miss Sharp!" Osborne ejaculated.

"At least in some families," Rebecca continued. "You can't think whata difference there is though. We are not so wealthy in Hampshire asyou lucky folks of the City. But then I am in a gentleman'sfamily--good old English stock. I suppose you know Sir Pitt's fatherrefused a peerage. And you see how I am treated. I am prettycomfortable. Indeed it is rather a good place. But how very good ofyou to inquire!"

Osborne was quite savage. The little governess patronised him andpersiffled him until this young British Lion felt quite uneasy; norcould he muster sufficient presence of mind to find a pretext forbacking out of this most delectable conversation.

"I thought you liked the City families pretty well," he said, haughtily.

"Last year you mean, when I was fresh from that horrid vulgar school?Of course I did. Doesn't every girl like to come home for theholidays? And how was I to know any better? But oh, Mr. Osborne, whata difference eighteen months' experience makes! eighteen months spent,pardon me for saying so, with gentlemen. As for dear Amelia, she, Igrant you, is a pearl, and would be charming anywhere. There now, Isee you are beginning to be in a good humour; but oh these queer oddCity people! And Mr. Jos--how is that wonderful Mr. Joseph?"

"It seems to me you didn't dislike that wonderful Mr. Joseph lastyear," Osborne said kindly.

"How severe of you! Well, entre nous, I didn't break my heart abouthim; yet if he had asked me to do what you mean by your looks (and veryexpressive and kind they are, too), I wouldn't have said no."

Mr. Osborne gave a look as much as to say, "Indeed, how very obliging!"

"What an honour to have had you for a brother-in-law, you are thinking?To be sister-in-law to George Osborne, Esquire, son of John Osborne,Esquire, son of--what was your grandpapa, Mr. Osborne? Well, don't beangry. You can't help your pedigree, and I quite agree with you that Iwould have married Mr. Joe Sedley; for could a poor penniless girl dobetter? Now you know the whole secret. I'm frank and open;considering all things, it was very kind of you to allude to thecircumstance--very kind and polite. Amelia dear, Mr. Osborne and Iwere talking about your poor brother Joseph. How is he?"

Thus was George utterly routed. Not that Rebecca was in the right; butshe had managed most successfully to put him in the wrong. And he nowshamefully fled, feeling, if he stayed another minute, that he wouldhave been made to look foolish in the presence of Amelia.

Though Rebecca had had the better of him, George was above the meannessof talebearing or revenge upon a lady--only he could not help cleverlyconfiding to Captain Crawley, next day, some notions of his regardingMiss Rebecca--that she was a sharp one, a dangerous one, a desperateflirt, &c.; in all of which opinions Crawley agreed laughingly, andwith every one of which Miss Rebecca was made acquainted beforetwenty-four hours were over. They added to her original regard for Mr.Osborne. Her woman's instinct had told her that it was George who hadinterrupted the success of her first love-passage, and she esteemed himaccordingly.

"I only just warn you," he said to Rawdon Crawley, with a knowinglook--he had bought the horse, and lost some score of guineas afterdinner, "I just warn you--I know women, and counsel you to be on thelook-out."

"Thank you, my boy," said Crawley, with a look of peculiar gratitude."You're wide awake, I see." And George went off, thinking Crawley wasquite right.

He told Amelia of what he had done, and how he had counselled RawdonCrawley--a devilish good, straightforward fellow--to be on his guardagainst that little sly, scheming Rebecca.

"Against whom?" Amelia cried.

"Your friend the governess.--Don't look so astonished."

"O George, what have you done?" Amelia said. For her woman's eyes,which Love had made sharp-sighted, had in one instant discovered asecret which was invisible to Miss Crawley, to poor virgin Briggs, andabove all, to the stupid peepers of that young whiskered prig,Lieutenant Osborne.

For as Rebecca was shawling her in an upper apartment, where these twofriends had an opportunity for a little of that secret talking andconspiring which form the delight of female life, Amelia, coming up toRebecca, and taking her two little hands in hers, said, "Rebecca, I seeit all."

Rebecca kissed her.

And regarding this delightful secret, not one syllable more was said byeither of the young women. But it was destined to come out before long.

Some short period after the above events, and Miss Rebecca Sharp stillremaining at her patroness's house in Park Lane, one more hatchmentmight have been seen in Great Gaunt Street, figuring amongst the manywhich usually ornament that dismal quarter. It was over Sir PittCrawley's house; but it did not indicate the worthy baronet's demise.It was a feminine hatchment, and indeed a few years back had served asa funeral compliment to Sir Pitt's old mother, the late dowager LadyCrawley. Its period of service over, the hatchment had come down fromthe front of the house, and lived in retirement somewhere in the backpremises of Sir Pitt's mansion. It reappeared now for poor Rose Dawson.Sir Pitt was a widower again. The arms quartered on the shield alongwith his own were not, to be sure, poor Rose's. She had no arms. Butthe cherubs painted on the scutcheon answered as well for her as forSir Pitt's mother, and Resurgam was written under the coat, flanked bythe Crawley Dove and Serpent. Arms and Hatchments, Resurgam.--Here isan opportunity for moralising!

Mr. Crawley had tended that otherwise friendless bedside. She went outof the world strengthened by such words and comfort as he could giveher. For many years his was the only kindness she ever knew; the onlyfriendship that solaced in any way that feeble, lonely soul. Her heartwas dead long before her body. She had sold it to become Sir PittCrawley's wife. Mothers and daughters are making the same bargainevery day in Vanity Fair.

When the demise took place, her husband was in London attending to someof his innumerable schemes, and busy with his endless lawyers. He hadfound time, nevertheless, to call often in Park Lane, and to despatchmany notes to Rebecca, entreating her, enjoining her, commanding her toreturn to her young pupils in the country, who were now utterly withoutcompanionship during their mother's illness. But Miss Crawley wouldnot hear of her departure; for though there was no lady of fashion inLondon who would desert her friends more complacently as soon as shewas tired of their society, and though few tired of them sooner, yet aslong as her engoument lasted her attachment was prodigious, and sheclung still with the greatest energy to Rebecca.

The news of Lady Crawley's death provoked no more grief or comment thanmight have been expected in Miss Crawley's family circle. "I suppose Imust put off my party for the 3rd," Miss Crawley said; and added, aftera pause, "I hope my brother will have the decency not to marry again.""What a confounded rage Pitt will be in if he does," Rawdon remarked,with his usual regard for his elder brother. Rebecca said nothing. Sheseemed by far the gravest and most impressed of the family. She leftthe room before Rawdon went away that day; but they met by chancebelow, as he was going away after taking leave, and had a parleytogether.

On the morrow, as Rebecca was gazing from the window, she startled MissCrawley, who was placidly occupied with a French novel, by crying outin an alarmed tone, "Here's Sir Pitt, Ma'am!" and the Baronet's knockfollowed this announcement.

"My dear, I can't see him. I won't see him. Tell Bowls not at home,or go downstairs and say I'm too ill to receive any one. My nervesreally won't bear my brother at this moment," cried out Miss Crawley,and resumed the novel.

"She's too ill to see you, sir," Rebecca said, tripping down to SirPitt, who was preparing to ascend.

"So much the better," Sir Pitt answered. "I want to see YOU, MissBecky. Come along a me into the parlour," and they entered thatapartment together.

"I wawnt you back at Queen's Crawley, Miss," the baronet said, fixinghis eyes upon her, and taking off his black gloves and his hat with itsgreat crape hat-band. His eyes had such a strange look, and fixed uponher so steadfastly, that Rebecca Sharp began almost to tremble.

"I hope to come soon," she said in a low voice, "as soon as MissCrawley is better--and return to--to the dear children."

"You've said so these three months, Becky," replied Sir Pitt, "andstill you go hanging on to my sister, who'll fling you off like an oldshoe, when she's wore you out. I tell you I want you. I'm going backto the Vuneral. 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 agin, I want you," Sir Pitt said, thumping the table. "I can'tgit on without you. I didn't see what it was till you went away. Thehouse all goes wrong. It's not the same place. All my accounts hasgot muddled agin. You MUST come back. Do come back. Dear Becky, docome."

"Come--as what, sir?" Rebecca gasped out.

"Come as Lady Crawley, if you like," the Baronet said, grasping hiscrape hat. "There! will that zatusfy you? Come back and be my wife.Your vit vor't. Birth be hanged. You're as good a lady as ever I see.You've got more brains in your little vinger than any baronet's wife inthe county. Will you come? Yes or no?"

"Oh, Sir Pitt!" Rebecca said, very much moved.

"Say yes, Becky," Sir Pitt continued. "I'm an old man, but a good'n.I'm good for twenty years. I'll make you happy, zee if I don't. Youshall do what you like; spend what you like; and 'ave it all your ownway. I'll make you a zettlement. I'll do everything reglar. Lookyear!" and the old man fell down on his knees and leered at her like asatyr.

Rebecca started back a picture of consternation. In the course of thishistory we have never seen her lose her presence of mind; but she didnow, and wept some of the most genuine tears that ever fell from hereyes.

"Oh, Sir Pitt!" she said. "Oh, sir--I--I'm married ALREADY."