How they were married is not of the slightest consequence to anybody.What is to hinder a Captain who is a major, and a young lady who is ofage, from purchasing a licence, and uniting themselves at any church inthis town? Who needs to be told, that if a woman has a will she willassuredly find a way?--My belief is that one day, when Miss Sharp hadgone to pass the forenoon with her dear friend Miss Amelia Sedley inRussell Square, a lady very like her might have been seen entering achurch in the City, in company with a gentleman with dyed mustachios,who, after a quarter of an hour's interval, escorted her back to thehackney-coach in waiting, and that this was a quiet bridal party.

And who on earth, after the daily experience we have, can question theprobability of a gentleman marrying anybody? How many of the wise andlearned have married their cooks? Did not Lord Eldon himself, the mostprudent of men, make a runaway match? Were not Achilles and Ajax bothin love with their servant maids? And are we to expect a heavy dragoonwith strong desires and small brains, who had never controlled apassion in his life, to become prudent all of a sudden, and to refuseto pay any price for an indulgence to which he had a mind? If peopleonly made prudent marriages, what a stop to population there would be!

It seems to me, for my part, that Mr. Rawdon's marriage was one of thehonestest actions which we shall have to record in any portion of thatgentleman's biography which has to do with the present history. No onewill say it is unmanly to be captivated by a woman, or, beingcaptivated, to marry her; and the admiration, the delight, the passion,the wonder, the unbounded confidence, and frantic adoration with which,by degrees, this big warrior got to regard the little Rebecca, werefeelings which the ladies at least will pronounce were not altogetherdiscreditable to him. When she sang, every note thrilled in his dullsoul, and tingled through his huge frame. When she spoke, he broughtall the force of his brains to listen and wonder. If she was jocular,he used to revolve her jokes in his mind, and explode over them half anhour afterwards in the street, to the surprise of the groom in thetilbury by his side, or the comrade riding with him in Rotten Row. Herwords were oracles to him, her smallest actions marked by an infalliblegrace and wisdom. "How she sings,--how she paints," thought he. "Howshe rode that kicking mare at Queen's Crawley!" And he would say toher in confidential moments, "By Jove, Beck, you're fit to beCommander-in-Chief, or Archbishop of Canterbury, by Jove." Is hiscase a rare one? and don't we see every day in the world many an honestHercules at the apron-strings of Omphale, and great whiskered Samsonsprostrate in Delilah's lap?

When, then, Becky told him that the great crisis was near, and the timefor action had arrived, Rawdon expressed himself as ready to act underher orders, as he would be to charge with his troop at the command ofhis colonel. There was no need for him to put his letter into thethird volume of Porteus. Rebecca easily found a means to get rid ofBriggs, her companion, and met her faithful friend in "the usual place"on the next day. She had thought over matters at night, andcommunicated to Rawdon the result of her determinations. He agreed, ofcourse, to everything; was quite sure that it was all right: that whatshe proposed was best; that Miss Crawley would infallibly relent, or"come round," as he said, after a time. Had Rebecca's resolutions beenentirely different, he would have followed them as implicitly. "Youhave head enough for both of us, Beck," said he. "You're sure to getus out of the scrape. I never saw your equal, and I've met with someclippers in my time too." And with this simple confession of faith, thelove-stricken dragoon left her to execute his part of the project whichshe had formed for the pair.

It consisted simply in the hiring of quiet lodgings at Brompton, or inthe neighbourhood of the barracks, for Captain and Mrs. Crawley. ForRebecca had determined, and very prudently, we think, to fly. Rawdonwas only too happy at her resolve; he had been entreating her to takethis measure any time for weeks past. He pranced off to engage thelodgings with all the impetuosity of love. He agreed to pay twoguineas a week so readily, that the landlady regretted she had askedhim so little. He ordered in a piano, and half a nursery-house full offlowers: and a heap of good things. As for shawls, kid gloves, silkstockings, gold French watches, bracelets and perfumery, he sent themin with the profusion of blind love and unbounded credit. And havingrelieved his mind by this outpouring of generosity, he went and dinednervously at the club, waiting until the great moment of his lifeshould come.

The occurrences of the previous day; the admirable conduct ofRebecca in refusing an offer so advantageous to her, the secretunhappiness preying upon her, the sweetness and silence with which shebore her affliction, made Miss Crawley much more tender than usual. Anevent of this nature, a marriage, or a refusal, or a proposal, thrillsthrough a whole household of women, and sets all their hystericalsympathies at work. As an observer of human nature, I regularlyfrequent St. George's, Hanover Square, during the genteel marriageseason; and though I have never seen the bridegroom's male friends giveway to tears, or the beadles and officiating clergy any way affected,yet it is not at all uncommon to see women who are not in the leastconcerned in the operations going on--old ladies who are long pastmarrying, stout middle-aged females with plenty of sons and daughters,let alone pretty young creatures in pink bonnets, who are on theirpromotion, and may naturally take an interest in the ceremony--I say itis quite common to see the women present piping, sobbing, sniffling;hiding their little faces in their little useless pocket-handkerchiefs;and heaving, old and young, with emotion. When my friend, thefashionable John Pimlico, married the lovely Lady Belgravia GreenParker, the excitement was so general that even the little snuffy oldpew-opener who let me into the seat was in tears. And wherefore? Iinquired of my own soul: she was not going to be married.

Miss Crawley and Briggs in a word, after the affair of Sir Pitt,indulged in the utmost luxury of sentiment, and Rebecca became anobject of the most tender interest to them. In her absence MissCrawley solaced herself with the most sentimental of the novels in herlibrary. Little Sharp, with her secret griefs, was the heroine of theday.

That night Rebecca sang more sweetly and talked more pleasantly thanshe had ever been heard to do in Park Lane. She twined herself roundthe heart of Miss Crawley. She spoke lightly and laughingly of SirPitt's proposal, ridiculed it as the foolish fancy of an old man; andher eyes filled with tears, and Briggs's heart with unutterable pangsof defeat, as she said she desired no other lot than to remain for everwith her dear benefactress. "My dear little creature," the old ladysaid, "I don't intend to let you stir for years, that you may dependupon it. As for going back to that odious brother of mine after whathas passed, it is out of the question. Here you stay with me andBriggs. Briggs wants to go to see her relations very often. Briggs,you may go when you like. But as for you, my dear, you must stay andtake care of the old woman."

If Rawdon Crawley had been then and there present, instead of being atthe club nervously drinking claret, the pair might have gone down ontheir knees before the old spinster, avowed all, and been forgiven in atwinkling. But that good chance was denied to the young couple,doubtless in order that this story might be written, in which numbersof their wonderful adventures are narrated--adventures which couldnever have occurred to them if they had been housed and sheltered underthe comfortable uninteresting forgiveness of Miss Crawley.

Under Mrs. Firkin's orders, in the Park Lane establishment, was a youngwoman from Hampshire, whose business it was, among other duties, toknock at Miss Sharp's door with that jug of hot water which Firkinwould rather have perished than have presented to the intruder. Thisgirl, bred on the family estate, had a brother in Captain Crawley'stroop, and if the truth were known, I daresay it would come out thatshe was aware of certain arrangements, which have a great deal to dowith this history. At any rate she purchased a yellow shawl, a pair ofgreen boots, and a light blue hat with a red feather with three guineaswhich Rebecca gave her, and as little Sharp was by no means too liberalwith her money, no doubt it was for services rendered that Betty Martinwas so bribed.

On the second day after Sir Pitt Crawley's offer to Miss Sharp, the sunrose as usual, and at the usual hour Betty Martin, the upstairs maid,knocked at the door of the governess's bedchamber.

No answer was returned, and she knocked again. Silence was stilluninterrupted; and Betty, with the hot water, opened the door andentered the chamber.

The little white dimity bed was as smooth and trim as on the dayprevious, when Betty's own hands had helped to make it. Two littletrunks were corded in one end of the room; and on the table before thewindow--on the pincushion the great fat pincushion lined with pinkinside, and twilled like a lady's nightcap--lay a letter. It had beenreposing there probably all night.

Betty advanced towards it on tiptoe, as if she were afraid to awakeit--looked at it, and round the room, with an air of great wonder andsatisfaction; took up the letter, and grinned intensely as she turnedit round and over, and finally carried it into Miss Briggs's room below.

How could Betty tell that the letter was for Miss Briggs, I should liketo know? All the schooling Betty had had was at Mrs. Bute Crawley'sSunday school, and she could no more read writing than Hebrew.

"La, Miss Briggs," the girl exclaimed, "O, Miss, something must havehappened--there's nobody in Miss Sharp's room; the bed ain't been slepin, and she've run away, and left this letter for you, Miss."

"WHAT!" cries Briggs, dropping her comb, the thin wisp of faded hairfalling over her shoulders; "an elopement! Miss Sharp a fugitive! What,what is this?" and she eagerly broke the neat seal, and, as they say,"devoured the contents" of the letter addressed to her.

Dear Miss Briggs [the refugee wrote], the kindest heart in the world,as yours is, will pity and sympathise with me and excuse me. Withtears, and prayers, and blessings, I leave the home where the poororphan has ever met with kindness and affection. Claims even superiorto those of my benefactress call me hence. I go to my duty--to myHUSBAND. Yes, I am married. My husband COMMANDS me to seek the HUMBLEHOME which we call ours. Dearest Miss Briggs, break the news as yourdelicate sympathy will know how to do it--to my dear, my beloved friendand benefactress. Tell her, ere I went, I shed tears on her dearpillow--that pillow that I have so often soothed in sickness--that Ilong AGAIN to watch--Oh, with what joy shall I return to dear ParkLane! How I tremble for the answer which is to SEAL MY FATE! When SirPitt deigned to offer me his hand, an honour of which my beloved MissCrawley said I was DESERVING (my blessings go with her for judging thepoor orphan worthy to be HER SISTER!) I told Sir Pitt that I wasalready A WIFE. Even he forgave me. But my courage failed me, when Ishould have told him all--that I could not be his wife, for I WAS HISDAUGHTER! I am wedded to the best and most generous of men--MissCrawley's Rawdon is MY Rawdon. At his COMMAND I open my lips, andfollow him to our humble home, as I would THROUGH THE WORLD. O, myexcellent and kind friend, intercede with my Rawdon's beloved aunt forhim and the poor girl to whom all HIS NOBLE RACE have shown suchUNPARALLELED AFFECTION. Ask Miss Crawley to receive HER CHILDREN. Ican say no more, but blessings, blessings on all in the dear house Ileave, prays

Your affectionate and GRATEFUL Rebecca Crawley. Midnight.

Just as Briggs had finished reading this affecting and interestingdocument, which reinstated her in her position as first confidante ofMiss Crawley, Mrs. Firkin entered the room. "Here's Mrs. Bute Crawleyjust arrived by the mail from Hampshire, and wants some tea; will youcome down and make breakfast, Miss?"

And to the surprise of Firkin, clasping her dressing-gown around her,the wisp of hair floating dishevelled behind her, the littlecurl-papers still sticking in bunches round her forehead, Briggs saileddown to Mrs. Bute with the letter in her hand containing the wonderfulnews.

"Oh, Mrs. Firkin," gasped Betty, "sech a business. Miss Sharp have agone and run away with the Capting, and they're off to Gretney Green!"We would devote a chapter to describe the emotions of Mrs. Firkin, didnot the passions of her mistresses occupy our genteeler muse.

When Mrs. Bute Crawley, numbed with midnight travelling, and warmingherself at the newly crackling parlour fire, heard from Miss Briggs theintelligence of the clandestine marriage, she declared it was quiteprovidential that she should have arrived at such a time to assist poordear Miss Crawley in supporting the shock--that Rebecca was an artfullittle hussy of whom she had always had her suspicions; and that as forRawdon Crawley, she never could account for his aunt's infatuationregarding him, and had long considered him a profligate, lost, andabandoned being. And this awful conduct, Mrs. Bute said, will have atleast this good effect, it will open poor dear Miss Crawley's eyes tothe real character of this wicked man. Then Mrs. Bute had acomfortable hot toast and tea; and as there was a vacant room in thehouse now, there was no need for her to remain at the Gloster CoffeeHouse where the Portsmouth mail had set her down, and whence sheordered Mr. Bowls's aide-de-camp the footman to bring away her trunks.

Miss Crawley, be it known, did not leave her room until near noon--takingchocolate in bed in the morning, while Becky Sharp read theMorning Post to her, or otherwise amusing herself or dawdling. Theconspirators below agreed that they would spare the dear lady'sfeelings until she appeared in her drawing-room: meanwhile it wasannounced to her that Mrs. Bute Crawley had come up from Hampshire bythe mail, was staying at the Gloster, sent her love to Miss Crawley,and asked for breakfast with Miss Briggs. The arrival of Mrs. Bute,which would not have caused any extreme delight at another period, washailed with pleasure now; Miss Crawley being pleased at the notion of agossip with her sister-in-law regarding the late Lady Crawley, thefuneral arrangements pending, and Sir Pitt's abrupt proposal to Rebecca.

It was not until the old lady was fairly ensconced in her usualarm-chair in the drawing-room, and the preliminary embraces and inquirieshad taken place between the ladies, that the conspirators thought itadvisable to submit her to the operation. Who has not admired theartifices and delicate approaches with which women "prepare" theirfriends for bad news? Miss Crawley's two friends made such anapparatus of mystery before they broke the intelligence to her, thatthey worked her up to the necessary degree of doubt and alarm.

"And she refused Sir Pitt, my dear, dear Miss Crawley, prepare yourselffor it," Mrs. Bute said, "because--because she couldn't help herself."

"Of course there was a reason," Miss Crawley answered. "She likedsomebody else. I told Briggs so yesterday."

"LIKES somebody else!" Briggs gasped. "O my dear friend, she ismarried already."

"Married already," Mrs. Bute chimed in; and both sate with claspedhands looking from each other at their victim.

"Send her to me, the instant she comes in. The little sly wretch: howdared she not tell me?" cried out Miss Crawley.

"She won't come in soon. Prepare yourself, dear friend--she's gone outfor a long time--she's--she's gone altogether."

"Gracious goodness, and who's to make my chocolate? Send for her andhave her back; I desire that she come back," the old lady said.

"She decamped last night, Ma'am," cried Mrs. Bute.

"She left a letter for me," Briggs exclaimed. "She's married to--"

"Prepare her, for heaven's sake. Don't torture her, my dear MissBriggs."

"She's married to whom?" cries the spinster in a nervous fury.

"To--to a relation of--"

"She refused Sir Pitt," cried the victim. "Speak at once. Don't driveme mad."

"O Ma'am--prepare her, Miss Briggs--she's married to Rawdon Crawley."

"Rawdon married Rebecca--governess--nobod-- Get out of my house, youfool, you idiot--you stupid old Briggs--how dare you? You're in theplot--you made him marry, thinking that I'd leave my money from him--youdid, Martha," the poor old lady screamed in hysteric sentences.

"I, Ma'am, ask a member of this family to marry a drawing-master'sdaughter?"

"Her mother was a Montmorency," cried out the old lady, pulling at thebell with all her might.

"Her mother was an opera girl, and she has been on the stage or worseherself," said Mrs. Bute.

Miss Crawley gave a final scream, and fell back in a faint. They wereforced to take her back to the room which she had just quitted. One fitof hysterics succeeded another. The doctor was sent for--theapothecary arrived. Mrs. Bute took up the post of nurse by her bedside."Her relations ought to be round about her," that amiable woman said.

She had scarcely been carried up to her room, when a new person arrivedto whom it was also necessary to break the news. This was Sir Pitt."Where's Becky?" he said, coming in. "Where's her traps? She's comingwith me to Queen's Crawley."

"Have you not heard the astonishing intelligence regarding hersurreptitious union?" Briggs asked.

"What's that to me?" Sir Pitt asked. "I know she's married. Thatmakes no odds. Tell her to come down at once, and not keep me."

"Are you not aware, sir," Miss Briggs asked, "that she has left ourroof, to the dismay of Miss Crawley, who is nearly killed by theintelligence of Captain Rawdon's union with her?"

When Sir Pitt Crawley heard that Rebecca was married to his son, hebroke out into a fury of language, which it would do no good to repeatin this place, as indeed it sent poor Briggs shuddering out of theroom; and with her we will shut the door upon the figure of thefrenzied old man, wild with hatred and insane with baffled desire.

One day after he went to Queen's Crawley, he burst like a madman intothe room she had used when there--dashed open her boxes with his foot,and flung about her papers, clothes, and other relics. Miss Horrocks,the butler's daughter, took some of them. The children dressedthemselves and acted plays in the others. It was but a few days afterthe poor mother had gone to her lonely burying-place; and was laid,unwept and disregarded, in a vault full of strangers.

"Suppose the old lady doesn't come to," Rawdon said to his little wife,as they sate together in the snug little Brompton lodgings. She hadbeen trying the new piano all the morning. The new gloves fitted herto a nicety; the new shawls became her wonderfully; the new ringsglittered on her little hands, and the new watch ticked at her waist;"suppose she don't come round, eh, Becky?"

"I'LL make your fortune," she said; and Delilah patted Samson's cheek.

"You can do anything," he said, kissing the little hand. "By Jove youcan; and we'll drive down to the Star and Garter, and dine, by Jove."