George danced with Rebecca twice or thrice--how many times Amelia scarcely knew.She sat quite unnoticed in her corner, except when Rawdon came up with some words of clumsy conversation: and later in the evening, when Captain Dobbin made so bold as to bring her refreshments and sit beside her.He did not like to ask her why she was so sad; but as a pretext for the tears which were filling in her eyes, she told him that Mrs.Crawley had alarmed her by telling her that George would go on playing.
"It is curious, when a man is bent upon play, by what clumsy rogues he will allow himself to be cheated,"Dobbin said; and Emmy said, "Indeed." She was thinking of something else.It was not the loss of the money that grieved her.
At last George came back for Rebecca's shawl and flowers.She was going away.She did not even condescend to come back and say good-bye to Amelia.The poor girl let her husband come and go without saying a word, and her head fell on her breast.Dobbin had been called away, and was whispering deep in conversation with the General of the division, his friend, and had not seen this last parting.George went away then with the bouquet; but when he gave it to the owner, there lay a note, coiled like a snake among the flowers.Rebecca's eye caught it at once.She had been used to deal with notes in early life.She put out her hand and took the nosegay.He saw by her eyes as they met, that she was aware what she should find there.Her husband hurried her away, still too intent upon his own thoughts, seemingly, to take note of any marks of recognition which might pass between his friend and his wife.These were, however, but trifling.Rebecca gave George her hand with one of her usual quick knowing glances, and made a curtsey and walked away.George bowed over the hand, said nothing in reply to a remark of Crawley's, did not hear it even, his brain was so throbbing with triumph and excitement, and allowed them to go away without a word.
His wife saw the one part at least of the bouquet-scene.
It was quite natural that George should come at Rebecca's request to get her her scarf and flowers: it was no more than he had done twenty times before in the course of the last few days; but now it was too much for her.
"William," she said, suddenly clinging to Dobbin, who was near her, "you've always been very kind to me--I'm--I'm not well.Take me home." She did not know she called him by his Christian name, as George was accustomed to do.He went away with her quickly.Her lodgings were hard by; and they threaded through the crowd without, where everything seemed to be more astir than even in the ball-room within.
George had been angry twice or thrice at finding his wife up on his return from the parties which he frequented: so she went straight to bed now; but although she did not sleep, and although the din and clatter, and the galloping of horsemen were incessant, she never heard any of these noises, having quite other disturbances to keep her awake.
Osborne meanwhile, wild with elation, went off to a play-table, and began to bet frantically.He won repeatedly.
"Everything succeeds with me to-night," he said.
But his luck at play even did not cure him of his restlessness, and he started up after awhile, pocketing his winnings, and went to a buffet, where he drank off many bumpers of wine.
Here, as he was rattling away to the people around, laughing loudly and wild with spirits, Dobbin found him.
He had been to the card-tables to look there for his friend.Dobbin looked as pale and grave as his comrade was flushed and jovial.
''Hullo, Dob! Come and drink, old Dob! The Duke's wine is famous.Give me some more, you sir"; and he held out a trembling glass for the liquor.
"Come out, George," said Dobbin, still gravely; "don't drink.""Drink! there's nothing like it.Drink yourself, and light up your lantern jaws, old boy.Here's to you."Dobbin went up and whispered something to him, at which George, giving a start and a wild hurray, tossed off his glass, clapped it on the table, and walked away speedily on his friend's arm."The enemy has passed the Sambre," William said, "and our left is already engaged.
Come away.We are to march in three hours."Away went George, his nerves quivering with excitement at the news so long looked for, so sudden when it came.What were love and intrigue now? He thought about a thousand things but these in his rapid walk to his quarters--his past life and future chances--the fate which might be before him--the wife, the child perhaps, from whom unseen he might be about to part.Oh, how he wished that night's work undone! and that with a clear conscience at least he might say farewell to the tender and guileless being by whose love he had set such little store!
He thought over his brief married life.In those few weeks he had frightfully dissipated his little capital.How wild and reckless he had been! Should any mischance befall him: what was then left for her? How unworthy he was of her.Why had he married her? He was not fit for marriage.Why had he disobeyed his father, who had been always so generous to him? Hope, remorse, ambition, tenderness, and selfish regret filled his heart.He sate down and wrote to his father, remembering what he had said once before, when he was engaged to fight a duel.
Dawn faintly streaked the sky as he closed this farewell letter.He sealed it, and kissed the superscription.He thought how he had deserted that generous father, and of the thousand kindnesses which the stern old man had done him.
He had looked into Amelia's bedroom when he entered;she lay quiet, and her eyes seemed closed, and he was glad that she was asleep.On arriving at his quarters from the ball, he had found his regimental servant already making preparations for his departure: the man had understood his signal to be still, and these arrangements were very quickly and silently made.Should he go in and wake Amelia, he thought, or leave a note for her brother to break the news of departure to her? He went in to look at her once again.
