Our surprised story now finds itself for a moment among very famousevents and personages, and hanging on to the skirts of history. Whenthe eagles of Napoleon Bonaparte, the Corsican upstart, were flyingfrom Provence, where they had perched after a brief sojourn in Elba,and from steeple to steeple until they reached the towers of NotreDame, I wonder whether the Imperial birds had any eye for a littlecorner of the parish of Bloomsbury, London, which you might havethought so quiet, that even the whirring and flapping of those mightywings would pass unobserved there?

"Napoleon has landed at Cannes." Such news might create a panic atVienna, and cause Russia to drop his cards, and take Prussia into acorner, and Talleyrand and Metternich to wag their heads together,while Prince Hardenberg, and even the present Marquis of Londonderry,were puzzled; but how was this intelligence to affect a young lady inRussell Square, before whose door the watchman sang the hours when shewas asleep: who, if she strolled in the square, was guarded there bythe railings and the beadle: who, if she walked ever so short adistance to buy a ribbon in Southampton Row, was followed by BlackSambo with an enormous cane: who was always cared for, dressed, put tobed, and watched over by ever so many guardian angels, with and withoutwages? Bon Dieu, I say, is it not hard that the fateful rush of thegreat Imperial struggle can't take place without affecting a poorlittle harmless girl of eighteen, who is occupied in billing andcooing, or working muslin collars in Russell Square? You too, kindly,homely flower!--is the great roaring war tempest coming to sweep youdown, here, although cowering under the shelter of Holborn? Yes;Napoleon is flinging his last stake, and poor little Emmy Sedley'shappiness forms, somehow, part of it.

In the first place, her father's fortune was swept down with that fatalnews. All his speculations had of late gone wrong with the lucklessold gentleman. Ventures had failed; merchants had broken; funds hadrisen when he calculated they would fall. What need to particularize?If success is rare and slow, everybody knows how quick and easy ruinis. Old Sedley had kept his own sad counsel. Everything seemed to goon as usual in the quiet, opulent house; the good-natured mistresspursuing, quite unsuspiciously, her bustling idleness, and daily easyavocations; the daughter absorbed still in one selfish, tender thought,and quite regardless of all the world besides, when that final crashcame, under which the worthy family fell.

One night Mrs. Sedley was writing cards for a party; the Osbornes hadgiven one, and she must not be behindhand; John Sedley, who had comehome very late from the City, sate silent at the chimney side, whilehis wife was prattling to him; Emmy had gone up to her room ailing andlow-spirited. "She's not happy," the mother went on. "George Osborneneglects her. I've no patience with the airs of those people. Thegirls have not been in the house these three weeks; and George has beentwice in town without coming. Edward Dale saw him at the Opera.Edward would marry her I'm sure: and there's Captain Dobbin who, Ithink, would--only I hate all army men. Such a dandy as George hasbecome. With his military airs, indeed! We must show some folks thatwe're as good as they. Only give Edward Dale any encouragement, andyou'll see. We must have a party, Mr. S. Why don't you speak, John?Shall I say Tuesday fortnight? Why don't you answer? Good God, John,what has happened?"

John Sedley sprang up out of his chair to meet his wife, who ran tohim. He seized her in his arms, and said with a hasty voice, "We'reruined, Mary. We've got the world to begin over again, dear. It'sbest that you should know all, and at once." As he spoke, he trembledin every limb, and almost fell. He thought the news would haveoverpowered his wife--his wife, to whom he had never said a hard word.But it was he that was the most moved, sudden as the shock was to her.When he sank back into his seat, it was the wife that took the officeof consoler. She took his trembling hand, and kissed it, and put itround her neck: she called him her John--her dear John--her oldman--her kind old man; she poured out a hundred words of incoherentlove and tenderness; her faithful voice and simple caresses wroughtthis sad heart up to an inexpressible delight and anguish, and cheeredand solaced his over-burdened soul.

Only once in the course of the long night as they sate together, andpoor Sedley opened his pent-up soul, and told the story of his lossesand embarrassments--the treason of some of his oldest friends, themanly kindness of some, from whom he never could have expected it--in ageneral confession--only once did the faithful wife give way to emotion.

"My God, my God, it will break Emmy's heart," she said.

The father had forgotten the poor girl. She was lying, awake andunhappy, overhead. In the midst of friends, home, and kind parents,she was alone. To how many people can any one tell all? Who will beopen where there is no sympathy, or has call to speak to those whonever can understand? Our gentle Amelia was thus solitary. She had noconfidante, so to speak, ever since she had anything to confide. Shecould not tell the old mother her doubts and cares; the would-besisters seemed every day more strange to her. And she had misgivingsand fears which she dared not acknowledge to herself, though she wasalways secretly brooding over them.

Her heart tried to persist in asserting that George Osborne was worthyand faithful to her, though she knew otherwise. How many a thing hadshe said, and got no echo from him. How many suspicions of selfishnessand indifference had she to encounter and obstinately overcome. Towhom could the poor little martyr tell these daily struggles andtortures? Her hero himself only half understood her. She did not dareto own that the man she loved was her inferior; or to feel that she hadgiven her heart away too soon. Given once, the pure bashful maiden wastoo modest, too tender, too trustful, too weak, too much woman torecall it. We are Turks with the affections of our women; and havemade them subscribe to our doctrine too. We let their bodies go abroadliberally enough, with smiles and ringlets and pink bonnets to disguisethem instead of veils and yakmaks. But their souls must be seen byonly one man, and they obey not unwillingly, and consent to remain athome as our slaves--ministering to us and doing drudgery for us.

So imprisoned and tortured was this gentle little heart, when in themonth of March, Anno Domini 1815, Napoleon landed at Cannes, and LouisXVIII fled, and all Europe was in alarm, and the funds fell, and oldJohn Sedley was ruined.

We are not going to follow the worthy old stockbroker through thoselast pangs and agonies of ruin through which he passed before hiscommercial demise befell. They declared him at the Stock Exchange; hewas absent from his house of business: his bills were protested: hisact of bankruptcy formal. The house and furniture of Russell Squarewere seized and sold up, and he and his family were thrust away, as wehave seen, to hide their heads where they might.

John Sedley had not the heart to review the domestic establishment whohave appeared now and anon in our pages and of whom he was now forcedby poverty to take leave. The wages of those worthy people weredischarged with that punctuality which men frequently show who only owein great sums--they were sorry to leave good places--but they did notbreak their hearts at parting from their adored master and mistress.Amelia's maid was profuse in condolences, but went off quite resignedto better herself in a genteeler quarter of the town. Black Sambo,with the infatuation of his profession, determined on setting up apublic-house. Honest old Mrs. Blenkinsop indeed, who had seen thebirth of Jos and Amelia, and the wooing of John Sedley and his wife,was for staying by them without wages, having amassed a considerablesum in their service: and she accompanied the fallen people into theirnew and humble place of refuge, where she tended them and grumbledagainst them for a while.

Of all Sedley's opponents in his debates with his creditors which nowensued, and harassed the feelings of the humiliated old gentleman soseverely, that in six weeks he oldened more than he had done forfifteen years before--the most determined and obstinate seemed to beJohn Osborne, his old friend and neighbour--John Osborne, whom he hadset up in life--who was under a hundred obligations to him--and whoseson was to marry Sedley's daughter. Any one of these circumstanceswould account for the bitterness of Osborne's opposition.

When one man has been under very remarkable obligations to another,with whom he subsequently quarrels, a common sense of decency, as itwere, makes of the former a much severer enemy than a mere strangerwould be. To account for your own hard-heartedness and ingratitude insuch a case, you are bound to prove the other party's crime. It is notthat you are selfish, brutal, and angry at the failure of aspeculation--no, no--it is that your partner has led you into it by thebasest treachery and with the most sinister motives. From a mere senseof consistency, a persecutor is bound to show that the fallen man is avillain--otherwise he, the persecutor, is a wretch himself.

And as a general rule, which may make all creditors who are inclined tobe severe pretty comfortable in their minds, no men embarrassed arealtogether honest, very likely. They conceal something; theyexaggerate chances of good luck; hide away the real state of affairs;say that things are flourishing when they are hopeless, keep a smilingface (a dreary smile it is) upon the verge of bankruptcy--are ready tolay hold of any pretext for delay or of any money, so as to stave offthe inevitable ruin a few days longer. "Down with such dishonesty,"says the creditor in triumph, and reviles his sinking enemy. "Youfool, why do you catch at a straw?" calm good sense says to the manthat is drowning. "You villain, why do you shrink from plunging intothe irretrievable Gazette?" says prosperity to the poor devil battlingin that black gulf. Who has not remarked the readiness with which theclosest of friends and honestest of men suspect and accuse each otherof cheating when they fall out on money matters? Everybody does it.Everybody is right, I suppose, and the world is a rogue.

Then Osborne had the intolerable sense of former benefits to goad andirritate him: these are always a cause of hostility aggravated.Finally, he had to break off the match between Sedley's daughter andhis son; and as it had gone very far indeed, and as the poor girl'shappiness and perhaps character were compromised, it was necessary toshow the strongest reasons for the rupture, and for John Osborne toprove John Sedley to be a very bad character indeed.

At the meetings of creditors, then, he comported himself with asavageness and scorn towards Sedley, which almost succeeded in breakingthe heart of that ruined bankrupt man. On George's intercourse withAmelia he put an instant veto--menacing the youth with maledictions ifhe broke his commands, and vilipending the poor innocent girl as thebasest and most artful of vixens. One of the great conditions of angerand hatred is, that you must tell and believe lies against the hatedobject, in order, as we said, to be consistent.

When the great crash came--the announcement of ruin, and the departurefrom Russell Square, and the declaration that all was over between herand George--all over between her and love, her and happiness, her andfaith in the world--a brutal letter from John Osborne told her in a fewcurt lines that her father's conduct had been of such a nature that allengagements between the families were at an end--when the final awardcame, it did not shock her so much as her parents, as her mother ratherexpected (for John Sedley himself was entirely prostrate in the ruinsof his own affairs and shattered honour). Amelia took the news verypalely and calmly. It was only the confirmation of the dark presageswhich had long gone before. It was the mere reading of thesentence--of the crime she had long ago been guilty--the crime ofloving wrongly, too violently, against reason. She told no more of herthoughts now than she had before. She seemed scarcely more unhappy nowwhen convinced all hope was over, than before when she felt but darednot confess that it was gone. So she changed from the large house tothe small one without any mark or difference; remained in her littleroom for the most part; pined silently; and died away day by day. I donot mean to say that all females are so. My dear Miss Bullock, I donot think your heart would break in this way. You are a strong-mindedyoung woman with proper principles. I do not venture to say that minewould; it has suffered, and, it must be confessed, survived. But thereare some souls thus gently constituted, thus frail, and delicate, andtender.

Whenever old John Sedley thought of the affair between George andAmelia, or alluded to it, it was with bitterness almost as great as Mr.Osborne himself had shown. He cursed Osborne and his family asheartless, wicked, and ungrateful. No power on earth, he swore, wouldinduce him to marry his daughter to the son of such a villain, and heordered Emmy to banish George from her mind, and to return all thepresents and letters which she had ever had from him.

She promised acquiescence, and tried to obey. She put up the two orthree trinkets: and, as for the letters, she drew them out of the placewhere she kept them; and read them over--as if she did not know them byheart already: but she could not part with them. That effort was toomuch for her; she placed them back in her bosom again--as you have seena woman nurse a child that is dead. Young Amelia felt that she woulddie or lose her senses outright, if torn away from this lastconsolation. How she used to blush and lighten up when those letterscame! How she used to trip away with a beating heart, so that shemight read unseen! If they were cold, yet how perversely this fondlittle soul interpreted them into warmth. If they were short orselfish, what excuses she found for the writer!

It was over these few worthless papers that she brooded and brooded.She lived in her past life--every letter seemed to recall somecircumstance of it. How well she remembered them all! His looks andtones, his dress, what he said and how--these relics and remembrancesof dead affection were all that were left her in the world. And thebusiness of her life, was--to watch the corpse of Love.

To death she looked with inexpressible longing. Then, she thought, Ishall always be able to follow him. I am not praising her conduct orsetting her up as a model for Miss Bullock to imitate. Miss B. knowshow to regulate her feelings better than this poor little creature.Miss B. would never have committed herself as that imprudent Amelia haddone; pledged her love irretrievably; confessed her heart away, and gotback nothing--only a brittle promise which was snapt and worthless in amoment. A long engagement is a partnership which one party is free tokeep or to break, but which involves all the capital of the other.

Be cautious then, young ladies; be wary how you engage. Be shy ofloving frankly; never tell all you feel, or (a better way still), feelvery little. See the consequences of being prematurely honest andconfiding, and mistrust yourselves and everybody. Get yourselvesmarried as they do in France, where the lawyers are the bridesmaids andconfidantes. At any rate, never have any feelings which may make youuncomfortable, or make any promises which you cannot at any requiredmoment command and withdraw. That is the way to get on, and berespected, and have a virtuous character in Vanity Fair.

If Amelia could have heard the comments regarding her which were madein the circle from which her father's ruin had just driven her, shewould have seen what her own crimes were, and how entirely hercharacter was jeopardised. Such criminal imprudence Mrs. Smith neverknew of; such horrid familiarities Mrs. Brown had always condemned, andthe end might be a warning to HER daughters. "Captain Osborne, ofcourse, could not marry a bankrupt's daughter," the Misses Dobbin said."It was quite enough to have been swindled by the father. As for thatlittle Amelia, her folly had really passed all--"

"All what?" Captain Dobbin roared out. "Haven't they been engaged eversince they were children? Wasn't it as good as a marriage? Dare anysoul on earth breathe a word against the sweetest, the purest, thetenderest, the most angelical of young women?"

"La, William, don't be so highty-tighty with US. We're not men. Wecan't fight you," Miss Jane said. "We've said nothing against MissSedley: but that her conduct throughout was MOST IMPRUDENT, not to callit by any worse name; and that her parents are people who certainlymerit their misfortunes."

"Hadn't you better, now that Miss Sedley is free, propose for heryourself, William?" Miss Ann asked sarcastically. "It would be a mosteligible family connection. He! he!"

"I marry her!" Dobbin said, blushing very much, and talking quick. "Ifyou are so ready, young ladies, to chop and change, do you suppose thatshe is? Laugh and sneer at that angel. She can't hear it; and she'smiserable and unfortunate, and deserves to be laughed at. Go onjoking, Ann. You're the wit of the family, and the others like to hearit."

"I must tell you again we're not in a barrack, William," Miss Annremarked.

"In a barrack, by Jove--I wish anybody in a barrack would say what youdo," cried out this uproused British lion. "I should like to hear aman breathe a word against her, by Jupiter. But men don't talk in thisway, Ann: it's only women, who get together and hiss, and shriek, andcackle. There, get away--don't begin to cry. I only said you were acouple of geese," Will Dobbin said, perceiving Miss Ann's pink eyeswere beginning to moisten as usual. "Well, you're not geese, you'reswans--anything you like, only do, do leave Miss Sedley alone."

Anything like William's infatuation about that silly little flirting,ogling thing was never known, the mamma and sisters agreed together inthinking: and they trembled lest, her engagement being off withOsborne, she should take up immediately her other admirer and Captain.In which forebodings these worthy young women no doubt judged accordingto the best of their experience; or rather (for as yet they had had noopportunities of marrying or of jilting) according to their own notionsof right and wrong.

"It is a mercy, Mamma, that the regiment is ordered abroad," the girlssaid. "THIS danger, at any rate, is spared our brother."

Such, indeed, was the fact; and so it is that the French Emperor comesin to perform a part in this domestic comedy of Vanity Fair which weare now playing, and which would never have been enacted without theintervention of this august mute personage. It was he that ruined theBourbons and Mr. John Sedley. It was he whose arrival in his capitalcalled up all France in arms to defend him there; and all Europe tooust him. While the French nation and army were swearing fidelity roundthe eagles in the Champ de Mars, four mighty European hosts weregetting in motion for the great chasse a l'aigle; and one of these wasa British army, of which two heroes of ours, Captain Dobbin and CaptainOsborne, formed a portion.

The news of Napoleon's escape and landing was received by the gallant--th with a fiery delight and enthusiasm, which everybody canunderstand who knows that famous corps. From the colonel to thesmallest drummer in the regiment, all were filled with hope andambition and patriotic fury; and thanked the French Emperor as for apersonal kindness in coming to disturb the peace of Europe. Now wasthe time the --th had so long panted for, to show their comrades inarms that they could fight as well as the Peninsular veterans, and thatall the pluck and valour of the --th had not been killed by the WestIndies and the yellow fever. Stubble and Spooney looked to get theircompanies without purchase. Before the end of the campaign (which sheresolved to share), Mrs. Major O'Dowd hoped to write herself Mrs.Colonel O'Dowd, C.B. Our two friends (Dobbin and Osborne) were quiteas much excited as the rest: and each in his way--Mr. Dobbin veryquietly, Mr. Osborne very loudly and energetically--was bent upon doinghis duty, and gaining his share of honour and distinction.

The agitation thrilling through the country and army in consequence ofthis news was so great, that private matters were little heeded: andhence probably George Osborne, just gazetted to his company, busy withpreparations for the march, which must come inevitably, and panting forfurther promotion--was not so much affected by other incidents whichwould have interested him at a more quiet period. He was not, it mustbe confessed, very much cast down by good old Mr. Sedley's catastrophe.He tried his new uniform, which became him very handsomely, on the daywhen the first meeting of the creditors of the unfortunate gentlemantook place. His father told him of the wicked, rascally, shamefulconduct of the bankrupt, reminded him of what he had said about Amelia,and that their connection was broken off for ever; and gave him thatevening a good sum of money to pay for the new clothes and epaulets inwhich he looked so well. Money was always useful to this free-handedyoung fellow, and he took it without many words. The bills were up inthe Sedley house, where he had passed so many, many happy hours. Hecould see them as he walked from home that night (to the OldSlaughters', where he put up when in town) shining white in the moon.That comfortable home was shut, then, upon Amelia and her parents:where had they taken refuge? The thought of their ruin affected him nota little. He was very melancholy that night in the coffee-room at theSlaughters'; and drank a good deal, as his comrades remarked there.

Dobbin came in presently, cautioned him about the drink, which he onlytook, he said, because he was deuced low; but when his friend began toput to him clumsy inquiries, and asked him for news in a significantmanner, Osborne declined entering into conversation with him, avowing,however, that he was devilish disturbed and unhappy.

Three days afterwards, Dobbin found Osborne in his room at thebarracks--his head on the table, a number of papers about, the youngCaptain evidently in a state of great despondency. "She--she's sent meback some things I gave her--some damned trinkets. Look here!" Therewas a little packet directed in the well-known hand to Captain GeorgeOsborne, and some things lying about--a ring, a silver knife he hadbought, as a boy, for her at a fair; a gold chain, and a locket withhair in it. "It's all over," said he, with a groan of sickeningremorse. "Look, Will, you may read it if you like."

There was a little letter of a few lines, to which he pointed, whichsaid:

My papa has ordered me to return to you these presents, which you madein happier days to me; and I am to write to you for the last time. Ithink, I know you feel as much as I do the blow which has come upon us.It is I that absolve you from an engagement which is impossible in ourpresent misery. I am sure you had no share in it, or in the cruelsuspicions of Mr. Osborne, which are the hardest of all our griefs tobear. Farewell. Farewell. I pray God to strengthen me to bear thisand other calamities, and to bless you always. A.

I shall often play upon the piano--your piano. It was like you to sendit.

Dobbin was very soft-hearted. The sight of women and children in painalways used to melt him. The idea of Amelia broken-hearted and lonelytore that good-natured soul with anguish. And he broke out into anemotion, which anybody who likes may consider unmanly. He swore thatAmelia was an angel, to which Osborne said aye with all his heart. He,too, had been reviewing the history of their lives--and had seen herfrom her childhood to her present age, so sweet, so innocent, socharmingly simple, and artlessly fond and tender.

What a pang it was to lose all that: to have had it and not prized it!A thousand homely scenes and recollections crowded on him--in which healways saw her good and beautiful. And for himself, he blushed withremorse and shame, as the remembrance of his own selfishness andindifference contrasted with that perfect purity. For a while, glory,war, everything was forgotten, and the pair of friends talked about heronly.

"Where are they?" Osborne asked, after a long talk, and a longpause--and, in truth, with no little shame at thinking that he hadtaken no steps to follow her. "Where are they? There's no address tothe note."

Dobbin knew. He had not merely sent the piano; but had written a noteto Mrs. Sedley, and asked permission to come and see her--and he hadseen her, and Amelia too, yesterday, before he came down to Chatham;and, what is more, he had brought that farewell letter and packet whichhad so moved them.

The good-natured fellow had found Mrs. Sedley only too willing toreceive him, and greatly agitated by the arrival of the piano, which,as she conjectured, MUST have come from George, and was a signal ofamity on his part. Captain Dobbin did not correct this error of theworthy lady, but listened to all her story of complaints andmisfortunes with great sympathy--condoled with her losses andprivations, and agreed in reprehending the cruel conduct of Mr. Osbornetowards his first benefactor. When she had eased her overflowing bosomsomewhat, and poured forth many of her sorrows, he had the courage toask actually to see Amelia, who was above in her room as usual, andwhom her mother led trembling downstairs.

Her appearance was so ghastly, and her look of despair so pathetic,that honest William Dobbin was frightened as he beheld it; and read themost fatal forebodings in that pale fixed face. After sitting in hiscompany a minute or two, she put the packet into his hand, and said,"Take this to Captain Osborne, if you please, and--and I hope he'squite well--and it was very kind of you to come and see us--and we likeour new house very much. And I--I think I'll go upstairs, Mamma, forI'm not very strong." And with this, and a curtsey and a smile, thepoor child went her way. The mother, as she led her up, cast backlooks of anguish towards Dobbin. The good fellow wanted no suchappeal. He loved her himself too fondly for that. Inexpressiblegrief, and pity, and terror pursued him, and he came away as if he wasa criminal after seeing her.

When Osborne heard that his friend had found her, he made hot andanxious inquiries regarding the poor child. How was she? How did shelook? What did she say? His comrade took his hand, and looked him inthe face.

"George, she's dying," William Dobbin said--and could speak no more.

There was a buxom Irish servant-girl, who performed all the duties ofthe little house where the Sedley family had found refuge: and thisgirl had in vain, on many previous days, striven to give Amelia aid orconsolation. Emmy was much too sad to answer, or even to be aware ofthe attempts the other was making in her favour.

Four hours after the talk between Dobbin and Osborne, this servant-maidcame into Amelia's room, where she sate as usual, broodingsilently over her letters--her little treasures. The girl, smiling,and looking arch and happy, made many trials to attract poor Emmy'sattention, who, however, took no heed of her.

"Miss Emmy," said the girl.

"I'm coming," Emmy said, not looking round.

"There's a message," the maid went on. "There'ssomething--somebody--sure, here's a new letter for you--don't be readingthem old ones any more." And she gave her a letter, which Emmy took, andread.

"I must see you," the letter said. "Dearest Emmy--dearestlove--dearest wife, come to me."

George and her mother were outside, waiting until she had read theletter.