got married? They said you was married--the Scotch
surgeon of yours was here. No, it was Captain Humby of
the thirty-third, as was quartered with the --th in Injee.
Like any warm water? ~What do you come in a chay for--
ain't the coach good enough?" And with this, the faithful
waiter, who knew and remembered every officer who
used the house, and with whom ten years were but as
yesterday, led the way up to Dobbin's old room, where
stood the great moreen bed, and the shabby carpet, a
thought more dingy, and all the old black furniture
covered with faded chintz, just as the Major recollected
them in his youth.
He remembered George pacing up and down the room,
and biting his nails, and swearing that the Governor must
come round, and that if he didn't, he didn't care a straw,
on the day before he was married. He could fancy him
walking in, banging the door of Dobbin's room, and his
own hard by--
"You ain't got young," John said, calmly surveying his
friend of former days.
Dobbin laughed. "Ten years and a fever don't make a
man young, John," he said. "It is you that are always
young--no, you are always old."
"What became of Captain Osborne's widow?" John
said. "Fine young fellow that. Lord, how he used to
spend his money. He never came back after that day he
was marched from here. He owes me three pound at this
minute. Look here, I have it in my book. 'April 10,
1815, Captain Osborne: '3pounds.' I wonder whether his
father would pay me," and so saying, John of the Slaughters'
pulled out the very morocco pocket-book in which
he had noted his loan to the Captain, upon a greasy
faded page still extant, with many other scrawled
memoranda regarding the bygone frequenters of the house.
Having inducted his customer into the room, John
retired with perfect calmness; and Major Dobbin, not
without a blush and a grin at his own absurdity, chose out of
his kit the very smartest and most becoming civil
costume he possessed, and laughed at his own tanned face
and grey hair, as he surveyed them in the dreary little
toilet-glass on the dressing-table.
"I'm glad old John didn't forget me," he thought.
"She'll know me, too, I hope." And he sallied out of the
inn, bending his steps once more in the direction of
Brompton.
Every minute incident of his last meeting with Amelia
was present to the constant man's mind as he walked
towards her house. The arch and the Achilles statue were
up since he had last been in Piccadilly; a hundred
changes had occurred which his eye and mind vaguely
noted. He began to tremble as he walked up the lane
from Brompton, that well-remembered lane leading to
the street where she lived. Was she going to be married
or not? If he were to meet her with the little boy--Good
God, what should he do? He saw a woman coming to him
with a child of five years old--was that she? He began
to shake at the mere possibility. When he came up to
the row of houses, at last, where she lived, and to the
gate, he caught hold of it and paused. He might have
heard the thumping of his own heart. "May God Almighty
bless her, whatever has happened," he thought to
himself. "Psha! she may be gone from here," he said
and went in through the gate.
The window of the parlour which she used to occupy
was open, and there were no inmates in the room. The
Major thought he recognized the piano, though, with the
picture over it, as it used to be in former days, and his
perturbations were renewed. Mr. Clapp's brass plate was
still on the door, at the knocker of which Dobbin
performed a summons.
A buxom-looking lass of sixteen, with bright eyes and
purple cheeks, came to answer the knock and looked
hard at the Major as he leant back against the little
porch.
He was as pale as a ghost and could hardly falter out
the words--"Does Mrs. Osborne live here?"
She looked him hard in the face for a moment--and
then turning white too--said, "Lord bless me--it's
Major Dobbin." She held out both her hands shaking--
"Don't you remember me?" she said. "I used to call you
Major Sugarplums." On which, and I believe it was for
the first time that he ever so conducted himself in his
life, the Major took the girl in his arms and kissed her.
She began to laugh and cry hysterically, and calling out
"Ma, Pa!" with all her voice, brought up those worthy
people, who had already been surveying the Major from
the casement of the ornamental kitchen, and were
astonished to find their daughter in the little passage in
the embrace of a great tall man in a blue frock-coat and
white duck trousers.
"I'm an old friend," he said--not without blushing
though. "Don't you remember me, Mrs. Clapp, and those
good cakes you used to make for tea? Don't you recollect
me, Clapp? I'm George's godfather, and just come
back from India." A great shaking of hands ensued--
Mrs. Clapp was greatly affected and delighted; she called
upon heaven to interpose a vast many times in that
passage.
The landlord and landlady of the house led the worthy
Major into the Sedleys' room (whereof he remembered
every single article of furniture, from the old brass
ornamented piano, once a natty little instrument, Stothard
maker, to the screens and the alabaster miniature tombstone,
in the midst of which ticked Mr. Sedley's gold
watch), and there, as he sat down in the lodger's vacant
arm-chair, the father, the mother, and the daughter,
with a thousand ejaculatory breaks in the narrative,
informed Major Dobbin of what we know already, but of
particulars in Amelia's history of which he was not aware
--namely of Mrs. Sedley's death, of George's reconcilement
with his grandfather Osborne, of the way in which
the widow took on at leaving him, and of other particulars
of her life. Twice or thrice he was going to ask
about the marriage question, but his heart failed him.
He did not care to lay it bare to these people. Finally,
he was informed that Mrs. O. was gone to walk with her
pa in Kensington Gardens, whither she always went with
the old gentleman (who was very weak and peevish now,
and led her a sad life, though she behaved to him like an
angel, to be sure), of a fine afternoon, after dinner.
"I'm very much pressed for time," the Major said,
"and have business to-night of importance. I should like
to see Mrs. Osborne tho'. Suppose Miss Polly would
come with me and show me the way?"
Miss Polly was charmed and astonished at this
proposal. She knew the way. She would show Major
Dobbin. She had often been with Mr. Sedley when Mrs. O.
was gone--was gone Russell Square way--and knew the
bench where he liked to sit. She bounced away to her
apartment and appeared presently in her best bonnet
and her mamma's yellow shawl and large pebble brooch,
of which she assumed the loan in order to make herself
a worthy companion for the Major.
That officer, then, in his blue frock-coat and buckskin
gloves, gave the young lady his arm, and they walked
away very gaily. He was glad to have a friend at hand
for the scene which he dreaded somehow. He asked a
thousand more questions from his companion about
Amelia: his kind heart grieved to think that she should
have had to part with her son. How did she bear it? Did
she see him often? Was Mr. Sedley pretty comfortable
now in a worldly point of view? Polly answered all these
questions of Major Sugarplums to the very best of her
power.
And in the midst of their walk an incident occurred
which, though very simple in its nature, was productive
of the greatest delight to Major Dobbin. A pale young
man with feeble whiskers and a stiff white neckcloth came
walking down the lane, en sandwich--having a lady, that
is, on each arm. One was a tall and commanding middle-
aged female, with features and a complexion similar to
those of the clergyman of the Church of England by
whose side she marched, and the other a stunted little
woman with a dark face, ornamented by a fine new bonnet
and white ribbons, and in a smart pelisse, with a rich
gold watch in the midst of her person. The gentleman,
pinioned as he was by these two ladies, carried further a
parasol, shawl, and basket, so that his arms were entirely
engaged, and of course he was unable to touch his hat in
acknowledgement of the curtsey with which Miss Mary
Clapp greeted him.
He merely bowed his head in reply to her salutation,
which the two ladies returned with a patronizing air, and
at the same time looking severely at the individual in the
blue coat and bamboo cane who accompanied Miss Polly.
"Who's that?" asked the Major, amused by the group,
and after he had made way for the three to pass up the
lane. Mary looked at him rather roguishly.
"That is our curate, the Reverend Mr. Binny (a twitch
from Major Dobbin), and his sister Miss B. Lord bless us,
how she did use to worret us at Sunday-school; and the
other lady, the little one with a cast in her eye and the
handsome watch, is Mrs. Binny--Miss Grits that was;
her pa was a grocer, and kept the Little Original Gold
Tea Pot in Kensington Gravel Pits. They were married last
month, and are just come back from Margate. She's five
thousand pound to her fortune; but her and Miss B., who
made the match, have quarrelled already."
If the Major had twitched before, he started now, and
slapped the bamboo on the ground with an emphasis
which made Miss Clapp cry, "Law," and laugh too. He
stood for a moment, silent, with open mouth, looking
after the retreating young couple, while Miss Mary told
their history; but he did not hear beyond the announcement
of the reverend gentleman's marriage; his head was
swimming with felicity. After this rencontre he began to
walk double quick towards the place of his destination
--and yet they were too soon (for he was in a great
tremor at the idea of a meeting for which he had been
longing any time these ten years)--through the Brompton
lanes, and entering at the little old portal in Kensington
Garden wall.
"There they are," said Miss Polly, and she felt him
again start back on her arm. She was a confidante at once
of the whole business. She knew the story as well as if
she had read it in one of her favourite novel-books--
Fatherless Fanny, or the Scottish Chiefs.
"Suppose you were to run on and tell her," the Major
said. Polly ran forward, her yellow shawl streaming in the
breeze.
Old Sedley was seated on a bench, his handkerchief
placed over his knees, prattling away, according to his
wont, with some old story about old times to which
Amelia had listened and awarded a patient smile many
a time before. She could of late think of her own affairs,
and smile or make other marks of recognition of her
father's stories, scarcely hearing a word of the old man's
tales. As Mary came bouncing along, and Amelia caught
sight of her, she started up from her bench. Her first
thought was that something had happened to Georgy,
but the sight of the messenger's eager and happy face
dissipated that fear in the timorous mother's bosom.
"News! News!" cried the emissary of Major Dobbin.
"He's come! He's come!"
"Who is come?" said Emmy, still thinking of her son.
"Look there," answered Miss Clapp, turning round and
pointing; in which direction Amelia looking, saw
Dobbin's lean figure and long shadow stalking across the
grass. Amelia started in her turn, blushed up, and, of
course, began to cry. At all this simple little creature's
fetes, the grandes eaux were accustomed to play.
He looked at her--oh, how fondly--as she came
running towards him, her hands before her, ready to give
them to him. She wasn't changed. She was a little pale,
a little stouter in figure. Her eyes were the same, the
kind trustful eyes. There were scarce three lines of silver
in her soft brown hair. She gave him both her hands as
she looked up flushing and smiling through her tears into
his honest homely face. He took the two little hands
between his two and held them there. He was speechless
for a moment. Why did he not take her in his arms and
swear that he would never leave her? She must have
yielded: she could not but have obeyed him.
"I--I've another arrival to announce," he said after a
pause.
"Mrs. Dobbin?" Amelia said, making a movement
back--why didn't he speak?
"No," he said, letting her hands go: "Who has told
you those lies? I mean, your brother Jos came in the
same ship with me, and is come home to make you all
happy."
"Papa, Papa!" Emmy cried out, "here are news! My
brother is in England. He is come to take care of you.
Here is Major Dobbin."
Mr. Sedley started up, shaking a great deal and gathering
up his thoughts. Then he stepped forward and made an
old-fashioned bow to the Major, whom he called Mr.
Dobbin, and hoped his worthy father, Sir William, was
quite well. He proposed to call upon Sir William, who had
done him the honour of a visit a short time ago. Sir
William had not called upon the old gentleman for eight
years--it was that visit he was thinking of returning.
"He is very much shaken," Emmy whispered as Dobbin
went up and cordially shook hands with the old man.
Although he had such particular business in London
that evening, the Major consented to forego it upon Mr.
Sedley's invitation to him to come home and partake of
tea. Amelia put her arm under that of her young friend
with the yellow shawl and headed the party on their
