Friend Rawdon drove on then to Mr. Moss's mansion in Cursitor Street,and was duly inducted into that dismal place of hospitality. Morningwas breaking over the cheerful house-tops of Chancery Lane as therattling cab woke up the echoes there. A little pink-eyed Jew-boy,with a head as ruddy as the rising morn, let the party into the house,and Rawdon was welcomed to the ground-floor apartments by Mr. Moss, histravelling companion and host, who cheerfully asked him if he wouldlike a glass of something warm after his drive.

The Colonel was not so depressed as some mortals would be, who,quitting a palace and a placens uxor, find themselves barred into aspunging-house; for, if the truth must be told, he had been a lodger atMr. Moss's establishment once or twice before. We have not thought itnecessary in the previous course of this narrative to mention thesetrivial little domestic incidents: but the reader may be assured thatthey can't unfrequently occur in the life of a man who lives on nothinga year.

Upon his first visit to Mr. Moss, the Colonel, then a bachelor, hadbeen liberated by the generosity of his aunt; on the second mishap,little Becky, with the greatest spirit and kindness, had borrowed a sumof money from Lord Southdown and had coaxed her husband's creditor (whowas her shawl, velvet-gown, lace pocket-handkerchief, trinket, andgim-crack purveyor, indeed) to take a portion of the sum claimed andRawdon's promissory note for the remainder: so on both these occasionsthe capture and release had been conducted with the utmost gallantry onall sides, and Moss and the Colonel were therefore on the very best ofterms.

"You'll find your old bed, Colonel, and everything comfortable," thatgentleman said, "as I may honestly say. You may be pretty sure its kepaired, and by the best of company, too. It was slep in the night aforelast by the Honorable Capting Famish, of the Fiftieth Dragoons, whoseMar took him out, after a fortnight, jest to punish him, she said.But, Law bless you, I promise you, he punished my champagne, and had aparty ere every night--reglar tip-top swells, down from the clubs andthe West End--Capting Ragg, the Honorable Deuceace, who lives in theTemple, and some fellers as knows a good glass of wine, I warrant you.I've got a Doctor of Diwinity upstairs, five gents in the coffee-room,and Mrs. Moss has a tably-dy-hoty at half-past five, and a littlecards or music afterwards, when we shall be most happy to see you."

"I'll ring when I want anything," said Rawdon and went quietly to hisbedroom. He was an old soldier, we have said, and not to be disturbedby any little shocks of fate. A weaker man would have sent off aletter to his wife on the instant of his capture. "But what is the useof disturbing her night's rest?" thought Rawdon. "She won't knowwhether I am in my room or not. It will be time enough to write to herwhen she has had her sleep out, and I have had mine. It's only ahundred-and-seventy, and the deuce is in it if we can't raise that."And so, thinking about little Rawdon (whom he would not have know thathe was in such a queer place), the Colonel turned into the bed latelyoccupied by Captain Famish and fell asleep. It was ten o'clock when hewoke up, and the ruddy-headed youth brought him, with conscious pride,a fine silver dressing-case, wherewith he might perform the operationof shaving. Indeed Mr. Moss's house, though somewhat dirty, wassplendid throughout. There were dirty trays, and wine-coolers enpermanence on the sideboard, huge dirty gilt cornices, with dingyyellow satin hangings to the barred windows which looked into CursitorStreet--vast and dirty gilt picture frames surrounding pieces sportingand sacred, all of which works were by the greatest masters--andfetched the greatest prices, too, in the bill transactions, in thecourse of which they were sold and bought over and over again. TheColonel's breakfast was served to him in the same dingy and gorgeousplated ware. Miss Moss, a dark-eyed maid in curl-papers, appeared withthe teapot, and, smiling, asked the Colonel how he had slep? And shebrought him in the Morning Post, with the names of all the great peoplewho had figured at Lord Steyne's entertainment the night before. Itcontained a brilliant account of the festivities and of the beautifuland accomplished Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's admirable personifications.

After a lively chat with this lady (who sat on the edge of thebreakfast table in an easy attitude displaying the drapery of herstocking and an ex-white satin shoe, which was down at heel), ColonelCrawley called for pens and ink, and paper, and being asked how manysheets, chose one which was brought to him between Miss Moss's ownfinger and thumb. Many a sheet had that dark-eyed damsel brought in;many a poor fellow had scrawled and blotted hurried lines of entreatyand paced up and down that awful room until his messenger brought backthe reply. Poor men always use messengers instead of the post. Whohas not had their letters, with the wafers wet, and the announcementthat a person is waiting in the hall?

Now on the score of his application, Rawdon had not many misgivings.

DEAR BECKY, (Rawdon wrote)

I HOPE YOU SLEPT WELL. Don't be FRIGHTENED if I don't bring you inyour COFFY. Last night as I was coming home smoaking, I met with anACCADENT. I was NABBED by Moss of Cursitor Street--from whose GILT ANDSPLENDID PARLER I write this--the same that had me this time two years.Miss Moss brought in my tea--she is grown very FAT, and, as usual, hadher STOCKENS DOWN AT HEAL.

It's Nathan's business--a hundred-and-fifty--with costs,hundred-and-seventy. Please send me my desk and some CLOTHS--I'm inpumps and a white tye (something like Miss M's stockings)--I've seventyin it. And as soon as you get this, Drive to Nathan's--offer himseventy-five down, and ASK HIM TO RENEW--say I'll take wine--we may aswell have some dinner sherry; but not PICTURS, they're too dear.

If he won't stand it. Take my ticker and such of your things as youcan SPARE, and send them to Balls--we must, of coarse, have the sumto-night. It won't do to let it stand over, as to-morrow's Sunday; thebeds here are not very CLEAN, and there may be other things out againstme--I'm glad it an't Rawdon's Saturday for coming home. God bless you.

Yours in haste, R. C. P.S. Make haste and come.

This letter, sealed with a wafer, was dispatched by one of themessengers who are always hanging about Mr. Moss's establishment, andRawdon, having seen him depart, went out in the court-yard and smokedhis cigar with a tolerably easy mind--in spite of the barsoverhead--for Mr. Moss's court-yard is railed in like a cage, lest thegentlemen who are boarding with him should take a fancy to escape fromhis hospitality.

Three hours, he calculated, would be the utmost time required, beforeBecky should arrive and open his prison doors, and he passed thesepretty cheerfully in smoking, in reading the paper, and in thecoffee-room with an acquaintance, Captain Walker, who happened to bethere, and with whom he cut for sixpences for some hours, with prettyequal luck on either side.

But the day passed away and no messenger returned--no Becky. Mr.Moss's tably-dy-hoty was served at the appointed hour of half-pastfive, when such of the gentlemen lodging in the house as could affordto pay for the banquet came and partook of it in the splendid frontparlour before described, and with which Mr. Crawley's temporarylodging communicated, when Miss M. (Miss Hem, as her papa called her)appeared without the curl-papers of the morning, and Mrs. Hem did thehonours of a prime boiled leg of mutton and turnips, of which theColonel ate with a very faint appetite. Asked whether he would "stand"a bottle of champagne for the company, he consented, and the ladiesdrank to his 'ealth, and Mr. Moss, in the most polite manner, "lookedtowards him."

In the midst of this repast, however, the doorbell was heard--youngMoss of the ruddy hair rose up with the keys and answered the summons,and coming back, told the Colonel that the messenger had returned witha bag, a desk and a letter, which he gave him. "No ceramony, Colonel,I beg," said Mrs. Moss with a wave of her hand, and he opened theletter rather tremulously. It was a beautiful letter, highly scented,on a pink paper, and with a light green seal.

MON PAUVRE CHER PETIT, (Mrs. Crawley wrote)

I could not sleep ONE WINK for thinking of what had become of my odiousold monstre, and only got to rest in the morning after sending for Mr.Blench (for I was in a fever), who gave me a composing draught and leftorders with Finette that I should be disturbed ON NO ACCOUNT. So thatmy poor old man's messenger, who had bien mauvaise mine Finette says,and sentoit le Genievre, remained in the hall for some hours waiting mybell. You may fancy my state when I read your poor dear old ill-speltletter.

Ill as I was, I instantly called for the carriage, and as soon as I wasdressed (though I couldn't drink a drop of chocolate--I assure you Icouldn't without my monstre to bring it to me), I drove ventre a terreto Nathan's. I saw him--I wept--I cried--I fell at his odious knees.Nothing would mollify the horrid man. He would have all the money, hesaid, or keep my poor monstre in prison. I drove home with theintention of paying that triste visite chez mon oncle (when everytrinket I have should be at your disposal though they would not fetch ahundred pounds, for some, you know, are with ce cher oncle already),and found Milor there with the Bulgarian old sheep-faced monster, whohad come to compliment me upon last night's performances. Paddingtoncame in, too, drawling and lisping and twiddling his hair; so didChampignac, and his chef--everybody with foison of compliments andpretty speeches--plaguing poor me, who longed to be rid of them, andwas thinking every moment of the time of mon pauvre prisonnier.

When they were gone, I went down on my knees to Milor; told him we weregoing to pawn everything, and begged and prayed him to give me twohundred pounds. He pish'd and psha'd in a fury--told me not to be sucha fool as to pawn--and said he would see whether he could lend me themoney. At last he went away, promising that he would send it me in themorning: when I will bring it to my poor old monster with a kiss fromhis affectionate

BECKY

I am writing in bed. Oh I have such a headache and such a heartache!

When Rawdon read over this letter, he turned so red and looked sosavage that the company at the table d'hote easily perceived that badnews had reached him. All his suspicions, which he had been trying tobanish, returned upon him. She could not even go out and sell hertrinkets to free him. She could laugh and talk about compliments paidto her, whilst he was in prison. Who had put him there? Wenham hadwalked with him. Was there.... He could hardly bear to think of whathe suspected. Leaving the room hurriedly, he ran into his own--openedhis desk, wrote two hurried lines, which he directed to Sir Pitt orLady Crawley, and bade the messenger carry them at once to GauntStreet, bidding him to take a cab, and promising him a guinea if he wasback in an hour.

In the note he besought his dear brother and sister, for the sake ofGod, for the sake of his dear child and his honour, to come to him andrelieve him from his difficulty. He was in prison, he wanted a hundredpounds to set him free--he entreated them to come to him.

He went back to the dining-room after dispatching his messenger andcalled for more wine. He laughed and talked with a strangeboisterousness, as the people thought. Sometimes he laughed madly athis own fears and went on drinking for an hour, listening all the whilefor the carriage which was to bring his fate back.

At the expiration of that time, wheels were heard whirling up to thegate--the young janitor went out with his gate-keys. It was a ladywhom he let in at the bailiff's door.

"Colonel Crawley," she said, trembling very much. He, with a knowinglook, locked the outer door upon her--then unlocked and opened theinner one, and calling out, "Colonel, you're wanted," led her into theback parlour, which he occupied.

Rawdon came in from the dining-parlour where all those people werecarousing, into his back room; a flare of coarse light following himinto the apartment where the lady stood, still very nervous.

"It is I, Rawdon," she said in a timid voice, which she strove torender cheerful. "It is Jane." Rawdon was quite overcome by that kindvoice and presence. He ran up to her--caught her in his arms--gaspedout some inarticulate words of thanks and fairly sobbed on hershoulder. She did not know the cause of his emotion.

The bills of Mr. Moss were quickly settled, perhaps to thedisappointment of that gentleman, who had counted on having the Colonelas his guest over Sunday at least; and Jane, with beaming smiles andhappiness in her eyes, carried away Rawdon from the bailiff's house,and they went homewards in the cab in which she had hastened to hisrelease. "Pitt was gone to a parliamentary dinner," she said, "whenRawdon's note came, and so, dear Rawdon, I--I came myself"; and she puther kind hand in his. Perhaps it was well for Rawdon Crawley that Pittwas away at that dinner. Rawdon thanked his sister a hundred times,and with an ardour of gratitude which touched and almost alarmed thatsoft-hearted woman. "Oh," said he, in his rude, artless way, "you--youdon't know how I'm changed since I've known you, and--and little Rawdy.I--I'd like to change somehow. You see I want--I want--to be--" He didnot finish the sentence, but she could interpret it. And that nightafter he left her, and as she sat by her own little boy's bed, sheprayed humbly for that poor way-worn sinner.

Rawdon left her and walked home rapidly. It was nine o'clock at night.He ran across the streets and the great squares of Vanity Fair, and atlength came up breathless opposite his own house. He started back andfell against the railings, trembling as he looked up. The drawing-roomwindows were blazing with light. She had said that she was in bed andill. He stood there for some time, the light from the rooms on hispale face.

He took out his door-key and let himself into the house. He could hearlaughter in the upper rooms. He was in the ball-dress in which he hadbeen captured the night before. He went silently up the stairs,leaning against the banisters at the stair-head. Nobody was stirringin the house besides--all the servants had been sent away. Rawdon heardlaughter within--laughter and singing. Becky was singing a snatch ofthe song of the night before; a hoarse voice shouted "Brava!Brava!"--it was Lord Steyne's.

Rawdon opened the door and went in. A little table with a dinner waslaid out--and wine and plate. Steyne was hanging over the sofa onwhich Becky sat. The wretched woman was in a brilliant full toilette,her arms and all her fingers sparkling with bracelets and rings, andthe brilliants on her breast which Steyne had given her. He had herhand in his, and was bowing over it to kiss it, when Becky started upwith a faint scream as she caught sight of Rawdon's white face. At thenext instant she tried a smile, a horrid smile, as if to welcome herhusband; and Steyne rose up, grinding his teeth, pale, and with fury inhis looks.

He, too, attempted a laugh--and came forward holding out his hand."What, come back! How d'ye do, Crawley?" he said, the nerves of hismouth twitching as he tried to grin at the intruder.

There was that in Rawdon's face which caused Becky to fling herselfbefore him. "I am innocent, Rawdon," she said; "before God, I aminnocent." She clung hold of his coat, of his hands; her own were allcovered with serpents, and rings, and baubles. "I am innocent. Say Iam innocent," she said to Lord Steyne.

He thought a trap had been laid for him, and was as furious with thewife as with the husband. "You innocent! Damn you," he screamed out."You innocent! Why every trinket you have on your body is paid for byme. I have given you thousands of pounds, which this fellow has spentand for which he has sold you. Innocent, by ----! You're as innocent asyour mother, the ballet-girl, and your husband the bully. Don't thinkto frighten me as you have done others. Make way, sir, and let mepass"; and Lord Steyne seized up his hat, and, with flame in his eyes,and looking his enemy fiercely in the face, marched upon him, never fora moment doubting that the other would give way.

But Rawdon Crawley springing out, seized him by the neckcloth, untilSteyne, almost strangled, writhed and bent under his arm. "You lie,you dog!" said Rawdon. "You lie, you coward and villain!" And he struckthe Peer twice over the face with his open hand and flung him bleedingto the ground. It was all done before Rebecca could interpose. Shestood there trembling before him. She admired her husband, strong,brave, and victorious.

"Come here," he said. She came up at once.

"Take off those things." She began, trembling, pulling the jewels fromher arms, and the rings from her shaking fingers, and held them all ina heap, quivering and looking up at him. "Throw them down," he said,and she dropped them. He tore the diamond ornament out of her breastand flung it at Lord Steyne. It cut him on his bald forehead. Steynewore the scar to his dying day.

"Come upstairs," Rawdon said to his wife. "Don't kill me, Rawdon," shesaid. He laughed savagely. "I want to see if that man lies about themoney as he has about me. Has he given you any?"

"No," said Rebecca, "that is--"

"Give me your keys," Rawdon answered, and they went out together.

Rebecca gave him all the keys but one, and she was in hopes that hewould not have remarked the absence of that. It belonged to the littledesk which Amelia had given her in early days, and which she kept in asecret place. But Rawdon flung open boxes and wardrobes, throwing themultifarious trumpery of their contents here and there, and at last hefound the desk. The woman was forced to open it. It contained papers,love-letters many years old--all sorts of small trinkets and woman'smemoranda. And it contained a pocket-book with bank-notes. Some ofthese were dated ten years back, too, and one was quite a fresh one--anote for a thousand pounds which Lord Steyne had given her.

"Did he give you this?" Rawdon said.

"Yes," Rebecca answered.

"I'll send it to him to-day," Rawdon said (for day had dawned again,and many hours had passed in this search), "and I will pay Briggs, whowas kind to the boy, and some of the debts. You will let me know whereI shall send the rest to you. You might have spared me a hundredpounds, Becky, out of all this--I have always shared with you."

"I am innocent," said Becky. And he left her without another word.

What were her thoughts when he left her? She remained for hours afterhe was gone, the sunshine pouring into the room, and Rebecca sittingalone on the bed's edge. The drawers were all opened and theircontents scattered about--dresses and feathers, scarfs and trinkets, aheap of tumbled vanities lying in a wreck. Her hair was falling overher shoulders; her gown was torn where Rawdon had wrenched thebrilliants out of it. She heard him go downstairs a few minutes afterhe left her, and the door slamming and closing on him. She knew hewould never come back. He was gone forever. Would he killhimself?--she thought--not until after he had met Lord Steyne. Shethought of her long past life, and all the dismal incidents of it. Ah,how dreary it seemed, how miserable, lonely and profitless! Should shetake laudanum, and end it, to have done with all hopes, schemes, debts,and triumphs? The French maid found her in this position--sitting inthe midst of her miserable ruins with clasped hands and dry eyes. Thewoman was her accomplice and in Steyne's pay. "Mon Dieu, madame, whathas happened?" she asked.

What had happened? Was she guilty or not? She said not, but who couldtell what was truth which came from those lips, or if that corruptheart was in this case pure?

All her lies and her schemes, and her selfishness and her wiles, all herwit and genius had come to this bankruptcy. The woman closed thecurtains and, with some entreaty and show of kindness, persuaded hermistress to lie down on the bed. Then she went below and gathered upthe trinkets which had been lying on the floor since Rebecca droppedthem there at her husband's orders, and Lord Steyne went away.