Every reader of a sentimental turn (and we desire no other) must havebeen pleased with the tableau with which the last act of our littledrama concluded; for what can be prettier than an image of Love on hisknees before Beauty?

But when Love heard that awful confession from Beauty that she wasmarried already, he bounced up from his attitude of humility on thecarpet, uttering exclamations which caused poor little Beauty to bemore frightened than she was when she made her avowal. "Married;you're joking," the Baronet cried, after the first explosion of rageand wonder. "You're making vun of me, Becky. Who'd ever go to marryyou without a shilling to your vortune?"

"Married! married!" Rebecca said, in an agony of tears--her voicechoking with emotion, her handkerchief up to her ready eyes, faintingagainst the mantelpiece a figure of woe fit to melt the most obdurateheart. "O Sir Pitt, dear Sir Pitt, do not think me ungrateful for allyour goodness to me. It is only your generosity that has extorted mysecret."

"Generosity be hanged!" Sir Pitt roared out. "Who is it tu, then,you're married? Where was it?"

"Let me come back with you to the country, sir! Let me watch over youas faithfully as ever! Don't, don't separate me from dear Queen'sCrawley!"

"The feller has left you, has he?" the Baronet said, beginning, as hefancied, to comprehend. "Well, Becky--come back if you like. You can'teat your cake and have it. Any ways I made you a vair offer. Coomback as governess--you shall have it all your own way." She held outone hand. She cried fit to break her heart; her ringlets fell over herface, and over the marble mantelpiece where she laid it.

"So the rascal ran off, eh?" Sir Pitt said, with a hideous attempt atconsolation. "Never mind, Becky, I'LL take care of 'ee."

"Oh, sir! it would be the pride of my life to go back to Queen'sCrawley, and take care of the children, and of you as formerly, whenyou said you were pleased with the services of your little Rebecca.When I think of what you have just offered me, my heart fills withgratitude indeed it does. I can't be your wife, sir; let me--let me beyour daughter." Saying which, Rebecca went down on HER knees in a mosttragical way, and, taking Sir Pitt's horny black hand between her owntwo (which were very pretty and white, and as soft as satin), looked upin his face with an expression of exquisite pathos and confidence,when--when the door opened, and Miss Crawley sailed in.

Mrs. Firkin and Miss Briggs, who happened by chance to be at theparlour door soon after the Baronet and Rebecca entered the apartment,had also seen accidentally, through the keyhole, the old gentlemanprostrate before the governess, and had heard the generous proposalwhich he made her. It was scarcely out of his mouth when Mrs. Firkinand Miss Briggs had streamed up the stairs, had rushed into thedrawing-room where Miss Crawley was reading the French novel, and hadgiven that old lady the astounding intelligence that Sir Pitt was onhis knees, proposing to Miss Sharp. And if you calculate the time forthe above dialogue to take place--the time for Briggs and Firkin to flyto the drawing-room--the time for Miss Crawley to be astonished, and todrop her volume of Pigault le Brun--and the time for her to comedownstairs--you will see how exactly accurate this history is, and howMiss Crawley must have appeared at the very instant when Rebecca hadassumed the attitude of humility.

"It is the lady on the ground, and not the gentleman," Miss Crawleysaid, with a look and voice of great scorn. "They told me that YOU wereon your knees, Sir Pitt: do kneel once more, and let me see this prettycouple!"

"I have thanked Sir Pitt Crawley, Ma'am," Rebecca said, rising, "andhave told him that--that I never can become Lady Crawley."

"Refused him!" Miss Crawley said, more bewildered than ever. Briggsand Firkin at the door opened the eyes of astonishment and the lips ofwonder.

"Yes--refused," Rebecca continued, with a sad, tearful voice.

"And am I to credit my ears that you absolutely proposed to her, SirPitt?" the old lady asked.

"Ees," said the Baronet, "I did."

"And she refused you as she says?"

"Ees," Sir Pitt said, his features on a broad grin.

"It does not seem to break your heart at any rate," Miss Crawleyremarked.

"Nawt a bit," answered Sir Pitt, with a coolness and good-humour whichset Miss Crawley almost mad with bewilderment. That an old gentlemanof station should fall on his knees to a penniless governess, and burstout laughing because she refused to marry him--that a pennilessgoverness should refuse a Baronet with four thousand a year--these weremysteries which Miss Crawley could never comprehend. It surpassed anycomplications of intrigue in her favourite Pigault le Brun.

"I'm glad you think it good sport, brother," she continued, gropingwildly through this amazement.

"Vamous," said Sir Pitt. "Who'd ha' thought it! what a sly littledevil! what a little fox it waws!" he muttered to himself, chucklingwith pleasure.

"Who'd have thought what?" cries Miss Crawley, stamping with her foot."Pray, Miss Sharp, are you waiting for the Prince Regent's divorce,that you don't think our family good enough for you?"

"My attitude," Rebecca said, "when you came in, ma'am, did not look asif I despised such an honour as this good--this noble man has deignedto offer me. Do you think I have no heart? Have you all loved me, andbeen so kind to the poor orphan--deserted--girl, and am I to feelnothing? O my friends! O my benefactors! may not my love, my life, myduty, try to repay the confidence you have shown me? Do you grudge meeven gratitude, Miss Crawley? It is too much--my heart is too full";and she sank down in a chair so pathetically, that most of the audiencepresent were perfectly melted with her sadness.

"Whether you marry me or not, you're a good little girl, Becky, and I'myour vriend, mind," said Sir Pitt, and putting on his crape-bound hat,he walked away--greatly to Rebecca's relief; for it was evident thather secret was unrevealed to Miss Crawley, and she had the advantage ofa brief reprieve.

Putting her handkerchief to her eyes, and nodding away honest Briggs,who would have followed her upstairs, she went up to her apartment;while Briggs and Miss Crawley, in a high state of excitement, remainedto discuss the strange event, and Firkin, not less moved, dived downinto the kitchen regions, and talked of it with all the male and femalecompany there. And so impressed was Mrs. Firkin with the news, thatshe thought proper to write off by that very night's post, "with herhumble duty to Mrs. Bute Crawley and the family at the Rectory, and SirPitt has been and proposed for to marry Miss Sharp, wherein she hasrefused him, to the wonder of all."

The two ladies in the dining-room (where worthy Miss Briggs wasdelighted to be admitted once more to confidential conversation withher patroness) wondered to their hearts' content at Sir Pitt's offer,and Rebecca's refusal; Briggs very acutely suggesting that there musthave been some obstacle in the shape of a previous attachment,otherwise no young woman in her senses would ever have refused soadvantageous a proposal.

"You would have accepted it yourself, wouldn't you, Briggs?" MissCrawley said, kindly.

"Would it not be a privilege to be Miss Crawley's sister?" Briggsreplied, with meek evasion.

"Well, Becky would have made a good Lady Crawley, after all," MissCrawley remarked (who was mollified by the girl's refusal, and veryliberal and generous now there was no call for her sacrifices). "Shehas brains in plenty (much more wit in her little finger than you have,my poor dear Briggs, in all your head). Her manners are excellent, nowI have formed her. She is a Montmorency, Briggs, and blood issomething, though I despise it for my part; and she would have held herown amongst those pompous stupid Hampshire people much better than thatunfortunate ironmonger's daughter."

Briggs coincided as usual, and the "previous attachment" was thendiscussed in conjectures. "You poor friendless creatures are alwayshaving some foolish tendre," Miss Crawley said. "You yourself, youknow, were in love with a writing-master (don't cry, Briggs--you'realways crying, and it won't bring him to life again), and I supposethis unfortunate Becky has been silly and sentimental too--someapothecary, or house-steward, or painter, or young curate, or somethingof that sort."

"Poor thing! poor thing!" says Briggs (who was thinking of twenty-fouryears back, and that hectic young writing-master whose lock of yellowhair, and whose letters, beautiful in their illegibility, she cherishedin her old desk upstairs). "Poor thing, poor thing!" says Briggs.Once more she was a fresh-cheeked lass of eighteen; she was at eveningchurch, and the hectic writing-master and she were quavering out of thesame psalm-book.

"After such conduct on Rebecca's part," Miss Crawley saidenthusiastically, "our family should do something. Find out who is theobjet, Briggs. I'll set him up in a shop; or order my portrait of him,you know; or speak to my cousin, the Bishop and I'll doter Becky, andwe'll have a wedding, Briggs, and you shall make the breakfast, and bea bridesmaid."

Briggs declared that it would be delightful, and vowed that her dearMiss Crawley was always kind and generous, and went up to Rebecca'sbedroom to console her and prattle about the offer, and the refusal,and the cause thereof; and to hint at the generous intentions of MissCrawley, and to find out who was the gentleman that had the mastery ofMiss Sharp's heart.

Rebecca was very kind, very affectionate and affected--responded toBriggs's offer of tenderness with grateful fervour--owned there was asecret attachment--a delicious mystery--what a pity Miss Briggs had notremained half a minute longer at the keyhole! Rebecca might, perhaps,have told more: but five minutes after Miss Briggs's arrival inRebecca's apartment, Miss Crawley actually made her appearancethere--an unheard-of honour--her impatience had overcome her; she couldnot wait for the tardy operations of her ambassadress: so she came inperson, and ordered Briggs out of the room. And expressing her approvalof Rebecca's conduct, she asked particulars of the interview, and theprevious transactions which had brought about the astonishing offer ofSir Pitt.

Rebecca said she had long had some notion of the partiality with whichSir Pitt honoured her (for he was in the habit of making his feelingsknown in a very frank and unreserved manner) but, not to mentionprivate reasons with which she would not for the present trouble MissCrawley, Sir Pitt's age, station, and habits were such as to render amarriage quite impossible; and could a woman with any feeling ofself-respect and any decency listen to proposals at such a moment, whenthe funeral of the lover's deceased wife had not actually taken place?

"Nonsense, my dear, you would never have refused him had there not beensome one else in the case," Miss Crawley said, coming to her point atonce. "Tell me the private reasons; what are the private reasons?There is some one; who is it that has touched your heart?"

Rebecca cast down her eyes, and owned there was. "You have guessedright, dear lady," she said, with a sweet simple faltering voice. "Youwonder at one so poor and friendless having an attachment, don't you? Ihave never heard that poverty was any safeguard against it. I wish itwere."

"My poor dear child," cried Miss Crawley, who was always quite ready tobe sentimental, "is our passion unrequited, then? Are we pining insecret? Tell me all, and let me console you."

"I wish you could, dear Madam," Rebecca said in the same tearful tone."Indeed, indeed, I need it." And she laid her head upon Miss Crawley'sshoulder and wept there so naturally that the old lady, surprised intosympathy, embraced her with an almost maternal kindness, uttered manysoothing protests of regard and affection for her, vowed that she lovedher as a daughter, and would do everything in her power to serve her."And now who is it, my dear? Is it that pretty Miss Sedley's brother?You said something about an affair with him. I'll ask him here, mydear. And you shall have him: indeed you shall."

"Don't ask me now," Rebecca said. "You shall know all soon. Indeedyou shall. Dear kind Miss Crawley--dear friend, may I say so?"

"That you may, my child," the old lady replied, kissing her.

"I can't tell you now," sobbed out Rebecca, "I am very miserable. ButO! love me always--promise you will love me always." And in the midstof mutual tears--for the emotions of the younger woman had awakened thesympathies of the elder--this promise was solemnly given by MissCrawley, who left her little protege, blessing and admiring her as adear, artless, tender-hearted, affectionate, incomprehensible creature.

And now she was left alone to think over the sudden and wonderfulevents of the day, and of what had been and what might have been. Whatthink you were the private feelings of Miss, no (begging her pardon) ofMrs. Rebecca? If, a few pages back, the present writer claimed theprivilege of peeping into Miss Amelia Sedley's bedroom, andunderstanding with the omniscience of the novelist all the gentle painsand passions which were tossing upon that innocent pillow, why shouldhe not declare himself to be Rebecca's confidante too, master of hersecrets, and seal-keeper of that young woman's conscience?

Well, then, in the first place, Rebecca gave way to some very sincereand touching regrets that a piece of marvellous good fortune shouldhave been so near her, and she actually obliged to decline it. In thisnatural emotion every properly regulated mind will certainly share.What good mother is there that would not commiserate a pennilessspinster, who might have been my lady, and have shared four thousand ayear? What well-bred young person is there in all Vanity Fair, whowill not feel for a hard-working, ingenious, meritorious girl, who getssuch an honourable, advantageous, provoking offer, just at the verymoment when it is out of her power to accept it? I am sure our friendBecky's disappointment deserves and will command every sympathy.

I remember one night being in the Fair myself, at an evening party. Iobserved old Miss Toady there also present, single out for her specialattentions and flattery little Mrs. Briefless, the barrister's wife,who is of a good family certainly, but, as we all know, is as poor aspoor can be.

What, I asked in my own mind, can cause this obsequiousness on the partof Miss Toady; has Briefless got a county court, or has his wife had afortune left her? Miss Toady explained presently, with that simplicitywhich distinguishes all her conduct. "You know," she said, "MrsBriefless is granddaughter of Sir John Redhand, who is so ill atCheltenham that he can't last six months. Mrs. Briefless's papasucceeds; so you see she will be a baronet's daughter." And Toady askedBriefless and his wife to dinner the very next week.

If the mere chance of becoming a baronet's daughter can procure a ladysuch homage in the world, surely, surely we may respect the agonies ofa young woman who has lost the opportunity of becoming a baronet'swife. Who would have dreamed of Lady Crawley dying so soon? She wasone of those sickly women that might have lasted these tenyears--Rebecca thought to herself, in all the woes of repentance--and Imight have been my lady! I might have led that old man whither Iwould. I might have thanked Mrs. Bute for her patronage, and Mr. Pittfor his insufferable condescension. I would have had the town-housenewly furnished and decorated. I would have had the handsomestcarriage in London, and a box at the opera; and I would have beenpresented next season. All this might have been; and now--now all wasdoubt and mystery.

But Rebecca was a young lady of too much resolution and energy ofcharacter to permit herself much useless and unseemly sorrow for theirrevocable past; so, having devoted only the proper portion of regretto it, she wisely turned her whole attention towards the future, whichwas now vastly more important to her. And she surveyed her position,and its hopes, doubts, and chances.

In the first place, she was MARRIED--that was a great fact. Sir Pittknew it. She was not so much surprised into the avowal, as induced tomake it by a sudden calculation. It must have come some day: and whynot now as at a later period? He who would have married her himselfmust at least be silent with regard to her marriage. How Miss Crawleywould bear the news--was the great question. Misgivings Rebecca had;but she remembered all Miss Crawley had said; the old lady's avowedcontempt for birth; her daring liberal opinions; her general romanticpropensities; her almost doting attachment to her nephew, and herrepeatedly expressed fondness for Rebecca herself. She is so fond ofhim, Rebecca thought, that she will forgive him anything: she is soused to me that I don't think she could be comfortable without me: whenthe eclaircissement comes there will be a scene, and hysterics, and agreat quarrel, and then a great reconciliation. At all events, whatuse was there in delaying? the die was thrown, and now or to-morrow theissue must be the same. And so, resolved that Miss Crawley should havethe news, the young person debated in her mind as to the best means ofconveying it to her; and whether she should face the storm that mustcome, or fly and avoid it until its first fury was blown over. In thisstate of meditation she wrote the following letter:

Dearest Friend,

The great crisis which we have debated about so often is COME. Half ofmy secret is known, and I have thought and thought, until I am quitesure that now is the time to reveal THE WHOLE OF THE MYSTERY. Sir Pittcame to me this morning, and made--what do you think?--A DECLARATION INFORM. Think of that! Poor little me. I might have been Lady Crawley.How pleased Mrs. Bute would have been: and ma tante if I had takenprecedence of her! I might have been somebody's mamma, instead of--O, Itremble, I tremble, when I think how soon we must tell all!

Sir Pitt knows I am married, and not knowing to whom, is not very muchdispleased as yet. Ma tante is ACTUALLY ANGRY that I should haverefused him. But she is all kindness and graciousness. Shecondescends to say I would have made him a good wife; and vows that shewill be a mother to your little Rebecca. She will be shaken when shefirst hears the news. But need we fear anything beyond a momentaryanger? I think not: I AM SURE not. She dotes upon you so (younaughty, good-for-nothing man), that she would pardon you ANYTHING:and, indeed, I believe, the next place in her heart is mine: and thatshe would be miserable without me. Dearest! something TELLS ME we shallconquer. You shall leave that odious regiment: quit gaming, racing,and BE A GOOD BOY; and we shall all live in Park Lane, and ma tanteshall leave us all her money.

I shall try and walk to-morrow at 3 in the usual place. If Miss B.accompanies me, you must come to dinner, and bring an answer, and putit in the third volume of Porteus's Sermons. But, at all events, cometo your own

R.

To Miss Eliza Styles, At Mr. Barnet's, Saddler, Knightsbridge.

And I trust there is no reader of this little story who has notdiscernment enough to perceive that the Miss Eliza Styles (an oldschoolfellow, Rebecca said, with whom she had resumed an activecorrespondence of late, and who used to fetch these letters from thesaddler's), wore brass spurs, and large curling mustachios, and wasindeed no other than Captain Rawdon Crawley.