CHAPTER LV

In Which the Same Subject is Pursued

Becky did not rally from the state of stupor and confusion in which the

events of the previous night had plunged her intrepid spirit until the

bells of the Curzon Street Chapels were ringing for afternoon service,

and rising from her bed she began to ply her own bell, in order to

summon the French maid who had left her some hours before.

Mrs. Rawdon Crawley rang many times in vain; and though, on the last

occasion, she rang with such vehemence as to pull down the bell-rope,

Mademoiselle Fifine did not make her appearance--no, not though her

mistress, in a great pet, and with the bell-rope in her hand, came out

to the landing-place with her hair over her shoulders and screamed out

repeatedly for her attendant.

The truth is, she had quitted the premises for many hours, and upon

that permission which is called French leave among us. After picking up

the trinkets in the drawing-room, Mademoiselle had ascended to her own

apartments, packed and corded her own boxes there, tripped out and

called a cab for herself, brought down her trunks with her own hand,

and without ever so much as asking the aid of any of the other

servants, who would probably have refused it, as they hated her

cordially, and without wishing any one of them good-bye, had made her

exit from Curzon Street.

The game, in her opinion, was over in that little domestic

establishment. Fifine went off in a cab, as we have known more exalted

persons of her nation to do under similar circumstances: but, more

provident or lucky than these, she secured not only her own property,

but some of her mistress's (if indeed that lady could be said to have

any property at all)--and not only carried off the trinkets before

alluded to, and some favourite dresses on which she had long kept her

eye, but four richly gilt Louis Quatorze candlesticks, six gilt albums,

keepsakes, and Books of Beauty, a gold enamelled snuff-box which had

once belonged to Madame du Barri, and the sweetest little inkstand and

mother-of-pearl blotting book, which Becky used when she composed her

charming little pink notes, had vanished from the premises in Curzon

Street together with Mademoiselle Fifine, and all the silver laid on

the table for the little festin which Rawdon interrupted. The plated

ware Mademoiselle left behind her was too cumbrous, probably for which

reason, no doubt, she also left the fire irons, the chimney-glasses,

and the rosewood cottage piano.

A lady very like her subsequently kept a milliner's shop in the Rue du

Helder at Paris, where she lived with great credit and enjoyed the

patronage of my Lord Steyne. This person always spoke of England as of

the most treacherous country in the world, and stated to her young

pupils that she had been affreusement vole by natives of that island.

It was no doubt compassion for her misfortunes which induced the

Marquis of Steyne to be so very kind to Madame de Saint-Amaranthe. May

she flourish as she deserves--she appears no more in our quarter of

Vanity Fair.

Hearing a buzz and a stir below, and indignant at the impudence of

those servants who would not answer her summons, Mrs. Crawley flung her

morning robe round her and descended majestically to the drawing-room,

whence the noise proceeded.

The cook was there with blackened face, seated on the beautiful chintz

sofa by the side of Mrs. Raggles, to whom she was administering

Maraschino. The page with the sugar-loaf buttons, who carried about

Becky's pink notes, and jumped about her little carriage with such

alacrity, was now engaged putting his fingers into a cream dish; the

footman was talking to Raggles, who had a face full of perplexity and

woe--and yet, though the door was open, and Becky had been screaming a

half-dozen of times a few feet off, not one of her attendants had

obeyed her call. "Have a little drop, do'ee now, Mrs. Raggles," the

cook was saying as Becky entered, the white cashmere dressing-gown

flouncing around her.

"Simpson! Trotter!" the mistress of the house cried in great wrath.

"How dare you stay here when you heard me call? How dare you sit down

in my presence? Where's my maid?" The page withdrew his fingers from

his mouth with a momentary terror, but the cook took off a glass of

Maraschino, of which Mrs. Raggles had had enough, staring at Becky over

the little gilt glass as she drained its contents. The liquor appeared

to give the odious rebel courage.

"YOUR sofy, indeed!" Mrs. Cook said. "I'm a settin' on Mrs. Raggles's

sofy. Don't you stir, Mrs. Raggles, Mum. I'm a settin' on Mr. and Mrs.

Raggles's sofy, which they bought with honest money, and very dear it

cost 'em, too. And I'm thinkin' if I set here until I'm paid my wages,

I shall set a precious long time, Mrs. Raggles; and set I will,

too--ha! ha!" and with this she filled herself another glass of the

liquor and drank it with a more hideously satirical air.

"Trotter! Simpson! turn that drunken wretch out," screamed Mrs.

Crawley.

"I shawn't," said Trotter the footman; "turn out yourself. Pay our

selleries, and turn me out too. WE'LL go fast enough."

"Are you all here to insult me?" cried Becky in a fury; "when Colonel

Crawley comes home I'll--"

At this the servants burst into a horse haw-haw, in which, however,

Raggles, who still kept a most melancholy countenance, did not join.

"He ain't a coming back," Mr. Trotter resumed. "He sent for his

things, and I wouldn't let 'em go, although Mr. Raggles would; and I

don't b'lieve he's no more a Colonel than I am. He's hoff, and I

suppose you're a goin' after him. You're no better than swindlers,

both on you. Don't be a bullyin' ME. I won't stand it. Pay us our

selleries, I say. Pay us our selleries." It was evident, from Mr.

Trotter's flushed countenance and defective intonation, that he, too,

had had recourse to vinous stimulus.

"Mr. Raggles," said Becky in a passion of vexation, "you will not

surely let me be insulted by that drunken man?" "Hold your noise,

Trotter; do now," said Simpson the page. He was affected by his

mistress's deplorable situation, and succeeded in preventing an

outrageous denial of the epithet "drunken" on the footman's part.

"Oh, M'am," said Raggles, "I never thought to live to see this year

day: I've known the Crawley family ever since I was born. I lived

butler with Miss Crawley for thirty years; and I little thought one of

that family was a goin' to ruing me--yes, ruing me"--said the poor

fellow with tears in his eyes. "Har you a goin' to pay me? You've

lived in this 'ouse four year. You've 'ad my substance: my plate and

linning. You ho me a milk and butter bill of two 'undred pound, you

must 'ave noo laid heggs for your homlets, and cream for your spanil

dog."

"She didn't care what her own flesh and blood had," interposed the

cook. "Many's the time, he'd have starved but for me."

"He's a charaty-boy now, Cooky," said Mr. Trotter, with a drunken "ha!

ha!"--and honest Raggles continued, in a lamentable tone, an

enumeration of his griefs. All he said was true. Becky and her

husband had ruined him. He had bills coming due next week and no means

to meet them. He would be sold up and turned out of his shop and his

house, because he had trusted to the Crawley family. His tears and

lamentations made Becky more peevish than ever.

"You all seem to be against me," she said bitterly. "What do you want?

I can't pay you on Sunday. Come back to-morrow and I'll pay you

everything. I thought Colonel Crawley had settled with you. He will

to-morrow. I declare to you upon my honour that he left home this

morning with fifteen hundred pounds in his pocket-book. He has left me

nothing. Apply to him. Give me a bonnet and shawl and let me go out

and find him. There was a difference between us this morning. You all

seem to know it. I promise you upon my word that you shall all be

paid. He has got a good appointment. Let me go out and find him."

This audacious statement caused Raggles and the other personages

present to look at one another with a wild surprise, and with it

Rebecca left them. She went upstairs and dressed herself this time

without the aid of her French maid. She went into Rawdon's room, and

there saw that a trunk and bag were packed ready for removal, with a

pencil direction that they should be given when called for; then she

went into the Frenchwoman's garret; everything was clean, and all the

drawers emptied there. She bethought herself of the trinkets which had

been left on the ground and felt certain that the woman had fled. "Good

Heavens! was ever such ill luck as mine?" she said; "to be so near,

and to lose all. Is it all too late?" No; there was one chance more.

She dressed herself and went away unmolested this time, but alone. It

was four o'clock. She went swiftly down the streets (she had no money

to pay for a carriage), and never stopped until she came to Sir Pitt

Crawley's door, in Great Gaunt Street. Where was Lady Jane Crawley?

She was at church. Becky was not sorry. Sir Pitt was in his study, and

had given orders not to be disturbed--she must see him--she slipped by

the sentinel in livery at once, and was in Sir Pitt's room before the

astonished Baronet had even laid down the paper.

He turned red and started back from her with a look of great alarm and

horror.

"Do not look so," she said. "I am not guilty, Pitt, dear Pitt; you

were my friend once. Before God, I am not guilty. I seem so.

Everything is against me. And oh! at such a moment! just when all my

hopes were about to be realized: just when happiness was in store for

us."

"Is this true, what I see in the paper then?" Sir Pitt said--a

paragraph in which had greatly surprised him.

"It is true. Lord Steyne told me on Friday night, the night of that

fatal ball. He has been promised an appointment any time these six

months. Mr. Martyr, the Colonial Secretary, told him yesterday that it

was made out. That unlucky arrest ensued; that horrible meeting. I was

only guilty of too much devotedness to Rawdon's service. I have

received Lord Steyne alone a hundred times before. I confess I had

money of which Rawdon knew nothing. Don't you know how careless he is

of it, and could I dare to confide it to him?" And so she went on with

a perfectly connected story, which she poured into the ears of her

perplexed kinsman.

It was to the following effect. Becky owned, and with perfect

frankness, but deep contrition, that having remarked Lord Steyne's

partiality for her (at the mention of which Pitt blushed), and being

secure of her own virtue, she had determined to turn the great peer's

attachment to the advantage of herself and her family. "I looked for a

peerage for you, Pitt," she said (the brother-in-law again turned red).

"We have talked about it. Your genius and Lord Steyne's interest made

it more than probable, had not this dreadful calamity come to put an

end to all our hopes. But, first, I own that it was my object to

rescue my dear husband--him whom I love in spite of all his ill usage

and suspicions of me--to remove him from the poverty and ruin which was

impending over us. I saw Lord Steyne's partiality for me," she said,

casting down her eyes. "I own that I did everything in my power to

make myself pleasing to him, and as far as an honest woman may, to

secure his--his esteem. It was only on Friday morning that the news

arrived of the death of the Governor of Coventry Island, and my Lord

instantly secured the appointment for my dear husband. It was intended

as a surprise for him--he was to see it in the papers to-day. Even

after that horrid arrest took place (the expenses of which Lord Steyne

generously said he would settle, so that I was in a manner prevented

from coming to my husband's assistance), my Lord was laughing with me,

and saying that my dearest Rawdon would be consoled when he read of his

appointment in the paper, in that shocking spun--bailiff's house. And

then--then he came home. His suspicions were excited,--the dreadful

scene took place between my Lord and my cruel, cruel Rawdon--and, O my

God, what will happen next? Pitt, dear Pitt! pity me, and reconcile

us!" And as she spoke she flung herself down on her knees, and bursting

into tears, seized hold of Pitt's hand, which she kissed passionately.

It was in this very attitude that Lady Jane, who, returning from

church, ran to her husband's room directly she heard Mrs. Rawdon

Crawley was closeted there, found the Baronet and his sister-in-law.

"I am surprised that woman has the audacity to enter this house," Lady

Jane said, trembling in every limb and turning quite pale. (Her

Ladyship had sent out her maid directly after breakfast, who had

communicated with Raggles and Rawdon Crawley's household, who had told

her all, and a great deal more than they knew, of that story, and many

others besides). "How dare Mrs. Crawley to enter the house of--of an

honest family?"

Sir Pitt started back, amazed at his wife's display of vigour. Becky

still kept her kneeling posture and clung to Sir Pitt's hand.

"Tell her that she does not know all: Tell her that I am innocent,

dear Pitt," she whimpered out.

"Upon my word, my love, I think you do Mrs. Crawley injustice," Sir

Pitt said; at which speech Rebecca was vastly relieved. "Indeed I

believe her to be--"

"To be what?" cried out Lady Jane, her clear voice thrilling and, her

heart beating violently as she spoke. "To be a wicked woman--a

heartless mother, a false wife? She never loved her dear little boy,

who used to fly here and tell me of her cruelty to him. She never came

into a family but she strove to bring misery with her and to weaken the

most sacred affections with her wicked flattery and falsehoods. She

has deceived her husband, as she has deceived everybody; her soul is

black with vanity, worldliness, and all sorts of crime. I tremble when

I touch her. I keep my children out of her sight."

"Lady Jane!" cried Sir Pitt, starting up, "this is really language--"

"I have been a true and faithful wife to you, Sir Pitt," Lady Jane

continued, intrepidly; "I have kept my marriage vow as I made it to God

and have been obedient and gentle as a wife should. But righteous

obedience has its limits, and I declare that I will not bear that--that

woman again under my roof; if she enters it, I and my children will

leave it. She is not worthy to sit down with Christian people.

You--you must choose, sir, between her and me"; and with this my Lady

swept out of the room, fluttering with her own audacity, and leaving

Rebecca and Sir Pitt not a little astonished at it.

As for Becky, she was not hurt; nay, she was pleased. "It was the

diamond-clasp you gave me," she said to Sir Pitt, reaching him out her

hand; and before she left him (for which event you may be sure my Lady

Jane was looking out from her dressing-room window in the upper story)

the Baronet had promised to go and seek out his brother, and endeavour

to bring about a reconciliation.

Rawdon found some of the young fellows of the regiment seated in the

mess-room at breakfast, and was induced without much difficulty to

partake of that meal, and of the devilled legs of fowls and soda-water

with which these young gentlemen fortified themselves. Then they had a

conversation befitting the day and their time of life: about the next

pigeon-match at Battersea, with relative bets upon Ross and

Osbaldiston; about Mademoiselle Ariane of the French Opera, and who had

left her, and how she was consoled by Panther Carr; and about the fight

between the Butcher and the Pet, and the probabilities that it was a

cross. Young Tandyman, a hero of seventeen, laboriously endeavouring

to get up a pair of mustachios, had seen the fight, and spoke in the

most scientific manner about the battle and the condition of the men.

It was he who had driven the Butcher on to the ground in his drag and

passed the whole of the previous night with him. Had there not been

foul play he must have won it. All the old files of the Ring were in

it; and Tandyman wouldn't pay; no, dammy, he wouldn't pay. It was but

a year since the young Cornet, now so knowing a hand in Cribb's

parlour, had a still lingering liking for toffy, and used to be birched

at Eton.

So they went on talking about dancers, fights, drinking, demireps,

until Macmurdo came down and joined the boys and the conversation. He

did not appear to think that any especial reverence was due to their

boyhood; the old fellow cut in with stories, to the full as choice as

any the youngest rake present had to tell--nor did his own grey hairs

nor their smooth faces detain him. Old Mac was famous for his good

stories. He was not exactly a lady's man; that is, men asked him to

dine rather at the houses of their mistresses than of their mothers.

There can scarcely be a life lower, perhaps, than his, but he was quite

contented with it, such as it was, and led it in perfect good nature,

simplicity, and modesty of demeanour.

By the time Mac had finished a copious breakfast, most of the others

had concluded their meal. Young Lord Varinas was smoking an immense

Meerschaum pipe, while Captain Hugues was employed with a cigar: that

violent little devil Tandyman, with his little bull-terrier between his

legs, was tossing for shillings with all his might (that fellow was

always at some game or other) against Captain Deuceace; and Mac and

Rawdon walked off to the Club, neither, of course, having given any

hint of the business which was occupying their minds. Both, on the

other hand, had joined pretty gaily in the conversation, for why should

they interrupt it? Feasting, drinking, ribaldry, laughter, go on

alongside of all sorts of other occupations in Vanity Fair--the crowds

were pouring out of church as Rawdon and his friend passed down St.

James's Street and entered into their Club.

The old bucks and habitues, who ordinarily stand gaping and grinning

out of the great front window of the Club, had not arrived at their

posts as yet--the newspaper-room was almost empty. One man was present

whom Rawdon did not know; another to whom he owed a little score for

whist, and whom, in consequence, he did not care to meet; a third was

reading the Royalist (a periodical famous for its scandal and its

attachment to Church and King) Sunday paper at the table, and looking

up at Crawley with some interest, said, "Crawley, I congratulate you."

"What do you mean?" said the Colonel.

"It's in the Observer and the Royalist too," said Mr. Smith.

"What?" Rawdon cried, turning very red. He thought that the affair

with Lord Steyne was already in the public prints. Smith looked up

wondering and smiling at the agitation which the Colonel exhibited as

he took up the paper and, trembling, began to read.

Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown (the gentleman with whom Rawdon had the

outstanding whist account) had been talking about the Colonel just

before he came in.

"It is come just in the nick of time," said Smith. "I suppose Crawley

had not a shilling in the world."

"It's a wind that blows everybody good," Mr. Brown said. "He can't go

away without paying me a pony he owes me."

"What's the salary?" asked Smith.

"Two or three thousand," answered the other. "But the climate's so

infernal, they don't enjoy it long. Liverseege died after eighteen

months of it, and the man before went off in six weeks, I hear."

"Some people say his brother is a very clever man. I always found him

a d------ bore," Smith ejaculated. "He must have good interest, though.

He must have got the Colonel the place."

"He!" said Brown, with a sneer. "Pooh. It was Lord Steyne got it."

"How do you mean?"

"A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband," answered the other

enigmatically, and went to read his papers.

Rawdon, for his part, read in the Royalist the following astonishing

paragraph:

GOVERNORSHIP OF COVENTRY ISLAND.--H.M.S. Yellowjack, Commander

Jaunders, has brought letters and papers from Coventry Island. H. E.

Sir Thomas Liverseege had fallen a victim to the prevailing fever at

Swampton. His loss is deeply felt in the flourishing colony. We hear

that the Governorship has been offered to Colonel Rawdon Crawley, C.B.,

a distinguished Waterloo officer. We need not only men of acknowledged

bravery, but men of administrative talents to superintend the affairs

of our colonies, and we have no doubt that the gentleman selected by

the Colonial Office to fill the lamented vacancy which has occurred at

Coventry Island is admirably calculated for the post which he is about

to occupy.

"Coventry Island! Where was it? Who had appointed him to the

government? You must take me out as your secretary, old boy," Captain

Macmurdo said laughing; and as Crawley and his friend sat wondering and

perplexed over the announcement, the Club waiter brought in to the

Colonel a card on which the name of Mr. Wenham was engraved, who begged

to see Colonel Crawley.

The Colonel and his aide-de-camp went out to meet the gentleman,

rightly conjecturing that he was an emissary of Lord Steyne. "How d'ye

do, Crawley? I am glad to see you," said Mr. Wenham with a bland smile,

and grasping Crawley's hand with great cordiality.

"You come, I suppose, from--"

"Exactly," said Mr. Wenham.

"Then this is my friend Captain Macmurdo, of the Life Guards Green."

"Delighted to know Captain Macmurdo, I'm sure," Mr. Wenham said and

tendered another smile and shake of the hand to the second, as he had

done to the principal. Mac put out one finger, armed with a buckskin

glove, and made a very frigid bow to Mr. Wenham over his tight cravat.

He was, perhaps, discontented at being put in communication with a

pekin, and thought that Lord Steyne should have sent him a Colonel at

the very least.

"As Macmurdo acts for me, and knows what I mean," Crawley said, "I had

better retire and leave you together."

"Of course," said Macmurdo.

"By no means, my dear Colonel," Mr. Wenham said; "the interview which I

had the honour of requesting was with you personally, though the

company of Captain Macmurdo cannot fail to be also most pleasing. In

fact, Captain, I hope that our conversation will lead to none but the

most agreeable results, very different from those which my friend

Colonel Crawley appears to anticipate."

"Humph!" said Captain Macmurdo. Be hanged to these civilians, he

thought to himself, they are always for arranging and speechifying. Mr.

Wenham took a chair which was not offered to him--took a paper from his

pocket, and resumed--

"You have seen this gratifying announcement in the papers this morning,

Colonel? Government has secured a most valuable servant, and you, if

you accept office, as I presume you will, an excellent appointment.

Three thousand a year, delightful climate, excellent government-house,

all your own way in the Colony, and a certain promotion. I

congratulate you with all my heart. I presume you know, gentlemen, to

whom my friend is indebted for this piece of patronage?"

"Hanged if I know," the Captain said; his principal turned very red.

"To one of the most generous and kindest men in the world, as he is one

of the greatest--to my excellent friend, the Marquis of Steyne."

"I'll see him d---- before I take his place," growled out Rawdon.

"You are irritated against my noble friend," Mr. Wenham calmly resumed;

"and now, in the name of common sense and justice, tell me why?"

"WHY?" cried Rawdon in surprise.

"Why? Dammy!" said the Captain, ringing his stick on the ground.

"Dammy, indeed," said Mr. Wenham with the most agreeable smile; "still,

look at the matter as a man of the world--as an honest man--and see if

you have not been in the wrong. You come home from a journey, and

find--what?--my Lord Steyne supping at your house in Curzon Street with

Mrs. Crawley. Is the circumstance strange or novel? Has he not been a

hundred times before in the same position? Upon my honour and word as a

gentleman"--Mr. Wenham here put his hand on his waistcoat with a

parliamentary air--"I declare I think that your suspicions are

monstrous and utterly unfounded, and that they injure an honourable

gentleman who has proved his good-will towards you by a thousand

benefactions--and a most spotless and innocent lady."

"You don't mean to say that--that Crawley's mistaken?" said Mr.

Macmurdo.

"I believe that Mrs. Crawley is as innocent as my wife, Mrs. Wenham,"

Mr. Wenham said with great energy. "I believe that, misled by an

infernal jealousy, my friend here strikes a blow against not only an

infirm and old man of high station, his constant friend and benefactor,

but against his wife, his own dearest honour, his son's future

reputation, and his own prospects in life."

"I will tell you what happened," Mr. Wenham continued with great

solemnity; "I was sent for this morning by my Lord Steyne, and found

him in a pitiable state, as, I need hardly inform Colonel Crawley, any

man of age and infirmity would be after a personal conflict with a man

of your strength. I say to your face; it was a cruel advantage you

took of that strength, Colonel Crawley. It was not only the body of my

noble and excellent friend which was wounded--his heart, sir, was

bleeding. A man whom he had loaded with benefits and regarded with

affection had subjected him to the foulest indignity. What was this

very appointment, which appears in the journals of to-day, but a proof

of his kindness to you? When I saw his Lordship this morning I found

him in a state pitiable indeed to see, and as anxious as you are to

revenge the outrage committed upon him, by blood. You know he has

given his proofs, I presume, Colonel Crawley?"

"He has plenty of pluck," said the Colonel. "Nobody ever said he

hadn't."

"His first order to me was to write a letter of challenge, and to carry

it to Colonel Crawley. One or other of us," he said, "must not survive

the outrage of last night."

Crawley nodded. "You're coming to the point, Wenham," he said.

"I tried my utmost to calm Lord Steyne. 'Good God! sir,' I said, 'how I

regret that Mrs. Wenham and myself had not accepted Mrs. Crawley's

invitation to sup with her!'"

"She asked you to sup with her?" Captain Macmurdo said.

"After the opera. Here's the note of invitation--stop--no, this is

another paper--I thought I had it, but it's of no consequence, and I

pledge you my word to the fact. If we had come--and it was only one of

Mrs. Wenham's headaches which prevented us--she suffers under them a

good deal, especially in the spring--if we had come, and you had

returned home, there would have been no quarrel, no insult, no

suspicion--and so it is positively because my poor wife has a headache

that you are to bring death down upon two men of honour and plunge two

of the most excellent and ancient families in the kingdom into disgrace

and sorrow."

Mr. Macmurdo looked at his principal with the air of a man profoundly

puzzled, and Rawdon felt with a kind of rage that his prey was escaping

him. He did not believe a word of the story, and yet, how discredit or

disprove it?

Mr. Wenham continued with the same fluent oratory, which in his place

in Parliament he had so often practised--"I sat for an hour or more by

Lord Steyne's bedside, beseeching, imploring Lord Steyne to forego his

intention of demanding a meeting. I pointed out to him that the

circumstances were after all suspicious--they were suspicious. I

acknowledge it--any man in your position might have been taken in--I

said that a man furious with jealousy is to all intents and purposes a

madman, and should be as such regarded--that a duel between you must

lead to the disgrace of all parties concerned--that a man of his

Lordship's exalted station had no right in these days, when the most

atrocious revolutionary principles, and the most dangerous levelling

doctrines are preached among the vulgar, to create a public scandal;

and that, however innocent, the common people would insist that he was

guilty. In fine, I implored him not to send the challenge."

"I don't believe one word of the whole story," said Rawdon, grinding

his teeth. "I believe it a d------ lie, and that you're in it, Mr.

Wenham. If the challenge don't come from him, by Jove it shall come

from me."

Mr. Wenham turned deadly pale at this savage interruption of the

Colonel and looked towards the door.

But he found a champion in Captain Macmurdo. That gentleman rose up

with an oath and rebuked Rawdon for his language. "You put the affair

into my hands, and you shall act as I think fit, by Jove, and not as

you do. You have no right to insult Mr. Wenham with this sort of

language; and dammy, Mr. Wenham, you deserve an apology. And as for a

challenge to Lord Steyne, you may get somebody else to carry it, I

won't. If my lord, after being thrashed, chooses to sit still, dammy

let him. And as for the affair with--with Mrs. Crawley, my belief is,

there's nothing proved at all: that your wife's innocent, as innocent

as Mr. Wenham says she is; and at any rate that you would be a d--fool

not to take the place and hold your tongue."

"Captain Macmurdo, you speak like a man of sense," Mr. Wenham cried

out, immensely relieved--"I forget any words that Colonel Crawley has

used in the irritation of the moment."

"I thought you would," Rawdon said with a sneer.

"Shut your mouth, you old stoopid," the Captain said good-naturedly.

"Mr. Wenham ain't a fighting man; and quite right, too."

"This matter, in my belief," the Steyne emissary cried, "ought to be

buried in the most profound oblivion. A word concerning it should

never pass these doors. I speak in the interest of my friend, as well

as of Colonel Crawley, who persists in considering me his enemy."

"I suppose Lord Steyne won't talk about it very much," said Captain

Macmurdo; "and I don't see why our side should. The affair ain't a

very pretty one, any way you take it, and the less said about it the

better. It's you are thrashed, and not us; and if you are satisfied,

why, I think, we should be."

Mr. Wenham took his hat, upon this, and Captain Macmurdo following him

to the door, shut it upon himself and Lord Steyne's agent, leaving

Rawdon chafing within. When the two were on the other side, Macmurdo

looked hard at the other ambassador and with an expression of anything

but respect on his round jolly face.

"You don't stick at a trifle, Mr. Wenham," he said.

"You flatter me, Captain Macmurdo," answered the other with a smile.

"Upon my honour and conscience now, Mrs. Crawley did ask us to sup

after the opera."

"Of course; and Mrs. Wenham had one of her head-aches. I say, I've got

a thousand-pound note here, which I will give you if you will give me a

receipt, please; and I will put the note up in an envelope for Lord

Steyne. My man shan't fight him. But we had rather not take his money."

"It was all a mistake--all a mistake, my dear sir," the other said with

the utmost innocence of manner; and was bowed down the Club steps by

Captain Macmurdo, just as Sir Pitt Crawley ascended them. There was a

slight acquaintance between these two gentlemen, and the Captain, going

back with the Baronet to the room where the latter's brother was, told

Sir Pitt, in confidence, that he had made the affair all right between

Lord Steyne and the Colonel.

Sir Pitt was well pleased, of course, at this intelligence, and

congratulated his brother warmly upon the peaceful issue of the affair,

making appropriate moral remarks upon the evils of duelling and the

unsatisfactory nature of that sort of settlement of disputes.

And after this preface, he tried with all his eloquence to effect a

reconciliation between Rawdon and his wife. He recapitulated the

statements which Becky had made, pointed out the probabilities of their

truth, and asserted his own firm belief in her innocence.

But Rawdon would not hear of it. "She has kep money concealed from me

these ten years," he said "She swore, last night only, she had none

from Steyne. She knew it was all up, directly I found it. If she's

not guilty, Pitt, she's as bad as guilty, and I'll never see her

again--never." His head sank down on his chest as he spoke the words,

and he looked quite broken and sad.

"Poor old boy," Macmurdo said, shaking his head.

Rawdon Crawley resisted for some time the idea of taking the place

which had been procured for him by so odious a patron, and was also for

removing the boy from the school where Lord Steyne's interest had

placed him. He was induced, however, to acquiesce in these benefits by

the entreaties of his brother and Macmurdo, but mainly by the latter,

pointing out to him what a fury Steyne would be in to think that his

enemy's fortune was made through his means.

When the Marquis of Steyne came abroad after his accident, the Colonial

Secretary bowed up to him and congratulated himself and the Service

upon having made so excellent an appointment. These congratulations

were received with a degree of gratitude which may be imagined on the

part of Lord Steyne.

The secret of the rencontre between him and Colonel Crawley was buried

in the profoundest oblivion, as Wenham said; that is, by the seconds

and the principals. But before that evening was over it was talked of

at fifty dinner-tables in Vanity Fair. Little Cackleby himself went to

seven evening parties and told the story with comments and emendations

at each place. How Mrs. Washington White revelled in it! The

Bishopess of Ealing was shocked beyond expression; the Bishop went and

wrote his name down in the visiting-book at Gaunt House that very day.

Little Southdown was sorry; so you may be sure was his sister Lady

Jane, very sorry. Lady Southdown wrote it off to her other daughter at

the Cape of Good Hope. It was town-talk for at least three days, and

was only kept out of the newspapers by the exertions of Mr. Wagg,

acting upon a hint from Mr. Wenham.

The bailiffs and brokers seized upon poor Raggles in Curzon Street, and

the late fair tenant of that poor little mansion was in the

meanwhile--where? Who cared! Who asked after a day or two? Was she

guilty or not? We all know how charitable the world is, and how the

verdict of Vanity Fair goes when there is a doubt. Some people said

she had gone to Naples in pursuit of Lord Steyne, whilst others averred

that his Lordship quitted that city and fled to Palermo on hearing of

Becky's arrival; some said she was living in Bierstadt, and had become

a dame d'honneur to the Queen of Bulgaria; some that she was at

Boulogne; and others, at a boarding-house at Cheltenham.

Rawdon made her a tolerable annuity, and we may be sure that she was a

woman who could make a little money go a great way, as the saying is.

He would have paid his debts on leaving England, could he have got any

Insurance Office to take his life, but the climate of Coventry Island

was so bad that he could borrow no money on the strength of his salary.

He remitted, however, to his brother punctually, and wrote to his

little boy regularly every mail. He kept Macmurdo in cigars and sent

over quantities of shells, cayenne pepper, hot pickles, guava jelly,

and colonial produce to Lady Jane. He sent his brother home the Swamp

Town Gazette, in which the new Governor was praised with immense

enthusiasm; whereas the Swamp Town Sentinel, whose wife was not asked

to Government House, declared that his Excellency was a tyrant,

compared to whom Nero was an enlightened philanthropist. Little Rawdon

used to like to get the papers and read about his Excellency.

His mother never made any movement to see the child. He went home to

his aunt for Sundays and holidays; he soon knew every bird's nest about

Queen's Crawley, and rode out with Sir Huddlestone's hounds, which he

admired so on his first well-remembered visit to Hampshire.