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increased. I wonder was Lady Jane angry like the boy! Rawdon thought. But the or pleased that her husband at last found mother and son never could be brought tofault with his favorite Rebecca? Lord gether. Steyne's visits continuing, his own ceased; and his wife was for refusing all further intercourse with that nobleman, and declining the invitation to the charade-night which the marchioness sent to her; but Sir Pitt thought it was necessary to accept it, as his royal highness would be there.

Although he went to the party in question, Sir Pitt quitted it very early, and his wife, too, was very glad to come away. Becky hardly so much as spoke to him or noticed her sister-in-law. Pitt Crawley declared her behavior was monstrously indecorous, reprobated in strong terms the habit of play-acting and fancy dressing, as highly unbecoming a British female; and after the charades were over, took his brother Rawdon severely to task for appearing himself, and allowing his wife to join in such improper exhibitions.

Rawdon said she should not join in any more such amusements, but, indeed, and perhaps from hints from his elder brother and sister, he had already become a very watchful and exemplary domestic character. He left off his clubs and billiards. He never left home. He took Becky out to drive; he went laboriously with her to all her parties. Whenever my Lord Steyne called, he was sure to find the colonel. And when Becky proposed to go out without her husband, or received invitations for herself, he peremptorily ordered her to refuse them; and there was that in the gentleman's manner which enforced obedience. Little Becky, to do her justice, was charmed with Rawdon's gallantry. If he was surly, she never was. Whether friends were present or absent, she had always a kind smile for him, and was attentive to his pleasure and comfort. It was the early days of their marriage over again: the same good humor, prévenances, merriment, and artless confidence and regard. "How much pleasanter it is," she would say, "to have you by my side in the carriage than that foolish old Briggs! Let us always go on so, dear Rawdon. How nice it would be, and how happy we should always be, if we had but the money!" He fell asleep after dinner in his chair; he did not see the face opposite to him, haggard, weary, and terrible; it lighted up with fresh candid smiles when he woke. It kissed him gayly. He wondered that he had ever had suspicions. No, he never had suspicion all those dumb doubts and surly misgivings which had been gathering on his mind were mere idle jealousies. She was fond of him; she always had been. As for her shining in society it was no fault of hers; she was formed to shine there. Was there any woman who could talk, or sing, or do any thing like her? If she would but

And it was while Rawdon's mind was agitated with these doubts and perplexities that the incident occurred which was mentioned in the last chapter; and the unfortunate colonel found himself a prisoner, away from home.

CHAPTER LIII.

A RESCUE AND A CATASTROPHE.

FRIEND RAWDON drove on then to Mr. Moss's mansion in Cursitor-street, and was duly inducted into that dismal place of hospitality. Morning was breaking over the cheerful house-tops of Chancery-lane as the rattling cab woke up the echoes there, and 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, his traveling companion and host, who cheerfully asked him if he would like 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 a spunging-house, for, if the truth must be told, he had been a lodger at Mr. Moss's establishment once or twice before. We have not thought it necessary in the previous course of this narrative to mention these trivial little domestic incidents; but the reader may be assured that they can't unfrequently occur in the life of a man who lives on nothing a year.

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

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You'll find your old bed, colonel, and every thing comfortable," that gentleman said," as I may honestly say. You may be pretty sure its kep aired, and by the best of company, too. It was slep in the night afore last by the Honorable Capting Famish, of the Fiftieth Dragoons, whose mar took him out, after a fortnight, jest to punish him, she said. But, law bless you, 1 promise you, he punished my champagne, and had a party 'ere every night—reglar

ture.

tip-top swells, down from the clubs and the West End-Capting Ragg, the Honorable Deuceace, who lives in the Temple, and some fellers as knows a good glass of wine, I warrant you. I've got a doctor of diwinity up stairs, five gents in the coffee-room, and Mrs. Moss has a tably-de-hoty at half-past five, and a little cards or music afterward, when we shall be most happy to see you." "I'll ring, when I want any thing," said Rawdon, and went quietly to his bed-room. He was an old soldier, we have said, and not to be disturbed by any little shocks of fate. A weaker man would have sent off a letter to his wife on the instant of his cap"But what is the use of disturbing her night's rest?" thought Rawdon. "She won't know whether I am in my room or not. It will be time enough to write to her when she has had her sleep out, and I have had mine. It's only a hundred and seventy, and the deuce is in it if we can't raise that." And so, thinking about little Rawdon (whom he would not like to know that he was in such a queer place), the colonel turned into the bed lately occupied by Captain Famish, and fell asleep. It was ten o'clock when he woke up, and the ruddy-headed youth brought him, with conscious pride, a fine silver dressing-case, wherewith he might perform the operation of shaving. Indeed, Mr. Moss's house, though somewhat dirty, was splendid throughout. There were dirty trays, and wine coolers en permanence on the side-board, huge dirty gilt cornices, with dingy yellow satin hangings to the barred windows which looked into Cursitor-street -vast and dirty gilt picture-frames surrounding pieces, sporting and sacred, all of which works were by the greatest masters; and fetched the greatest prices, too, in the bill transactions, in the course of which they were sold and bought over and over again. The colonel's breakfast was served to him in the same dingy and gorgeous plated ware. Miss Moss, a dark-eyed maid in curl papers, appeared with the tea-pot, and, smiling, asked the colonel how he had slept? and she brought him in the Morning Post, with the names of all the great people who had figured at Lord Steyne's entertainment the night before. It contained a brilliant account of the festivities, and of the beautiful and accomplished Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's admirable personifications.

After a lively chat with this lady (who sate on the edge of the breakfast table in an easy attitude, displaying the drapery of her stocking and an ex-white satin shoe, which was down at heel), Colonel Crawley called for pens and ink, and paper; and being asked how many sheets, chose one, which was brought to him between Miss Moss's own finger and thumb. Many a sheet had that dark-eyed damsel brought in; many a poor fellow had scrawled and blotted hur

ried lines of entreaty, and paced up and down that awful room until his messenger brought back the reply. Poor men always use messengers instead of the post. Who has not had their letters, with the wafers wet, and the announcement that 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 in your coffy. Last night as I was coming home smoking, I met with an accadent. I was nabbed by Moss of Cursitorstreet-from whose gilt and splendid parler I write this-the same that had me this time two years. Miss Moss brought in my teashe is grown very fat, and as usual, had her stockens down at heal.

"It's Nathan's business a hundredand-fifty-with costs, hundred-and-seventy. Please send me my desk and some clothsI'm in pumps and a white tye (something like Miss M.'s stockings) I've seventy in it. And as soon as you get this, drive to Nathan's-offer him seventy-five down, and ask him to renew-say I'll take wine-we may as well have some dinner sherry; but not picturs, they'r too dear.

"If he won't stand it, take my ticker and such of your things as you can spare, and send them to Balls-we must, of course, have the sum to-night. It won't do to let it stand over, as to-morrow's Sunday; the beds here are not very clean, and there may be other things out against me-I'm glad it ain't Rawdon's Saturday for coming home. God bless you.

"Yours in haste,
"P.S. Make haste and come."

R. C.

This letter, sealed with a wafer, was dispatched by one of the messengers who are always hanging about Mr. Moss's establishment; and Rawdon, having seen him depart, went out in the courtyard and smoked his cigar with a tolerably easy mind-in spite of the bars over head; for Mr. Moss's courtyard is railed in like a cage, lest the gentlemen who are boarding with him should take a fancy to escape from his hospitality.

Three hours, he calculated, would be the utmost time required, before Becky should arrive and open his prison doors: and he passed these pretty cheerfully in smoking, in reading the paper, and in the coffee-room with an acquaintance, Captain Walker, who happened to be there, and with whom he cut for sixpences for some hours, with pretty equal luck on either side.

But the day passed away and no messenger returned, no Becky. Mr. Moss's tablyde-hoty was served at the appointed hour of half-past five, when such of the gentlemen lodging in the house as could afford to pay for the banquet, came and partook of it in

the splendid front parlor before described, | him to give me two hundred pounds. He and with which Mr. Crawley's temporary pish'd and psha'd in a fury-told me not to lodging communicated, when Miss M. (Miss be such a fool as to pawn-and said he Hem, as her papa called her) appeared with- would see whether he could lend me the out the curl-papers of the morning, and Mrs. money. At last he went away, promising Hem did the honors of a prime boiled leg of that he would send it me in the morning: mutton and turnips, of which the colonel ate when I will bring it to my poor old monstre with a very faint appetite. Asked whether with a kiss from his affectionate he would 66 stand" a bottle of champagne for the company, he consented, and the ladies drank to his 'ealth, and Mr. Moss, in the most polite manner "looked toward him."

In the midst of this repast however, the door-bell was heard-young Moss of the ruddy hair, rose up with the keys and answered the summons, and coming back, told the colonel that the messenger had returned with a bag, a desk and a letter, which he gave him. "No ceremony, colonel, I beg," said Mrs. Moss with a wave of her hand, and he opened the letter 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 odious old 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 left orders with Finette that I should be disturbed on no account. So that my poor old man's messenger, who had bein mauvaise mine, Finette says, and sentoit le Genièvre, remained in the hall for some hours waiting my bell. You may fancy my state when I read your poor, dear, old ill-spelled letter.

"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 so savage, that the company at the table d'hote easily perceived that bad news had reached him. All his suspicions, which he had been trying to banish, returned upon him. She could not even go out and sell her trinkets to free him. She could laugh and talk about compliments paid to her, while he was in prison. Who had put him there? Wenham had walked with him. Was there..... . He could hardly bear to think of what he suspected. Leaving the room hurriedly, he ran into his own-opened his desk, wrote two hurried lines, which he directed to Sir Pitt or Lady Crawley, and bade the messenger carry them at once to Gaunt-street, bidding him to take a cab, and promising him a guinea if he was back in an hour.

In the note he besought his dear brother and sister, for the sake of God; for the sake of his dear child and his honor, to come to him and relieve him from his difficulty. He was in prison: he wanted a hundred pounds to set him free-he entreated them to come to him.

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

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

"Ill as I was, I instantly called for the carriage, and as soon as I was dressed (though I couldn't drink a drop of chocolate -I assure you I couldn't without my monstre to bring it to me), I drove ventre à terre to 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, he said, or keep my poor monstre in prison. I drove home with the intention of paying that triste visite chez mon oncle (when every trinket I have should be at your disposal though they would not fetch a hundred pounds, for some, you know, are "Colonel Crawley," she said, trembling with ce cher oncle already, and found Milor very much. He, with a knowing look, lockthere with the Bulgarian old sheep-faced ed the outer door upon her-then unlocked monster, who had come to compliment me and opened the inner one, and calling out, upon last night's performances. Padding" Colonel you're wanted," led her into the ton came in, too, drawling and lisping and back parlor, which he occupied. twiddling his hair; so did Champignac, and his chef-every body with foison of compliments and pretty speeches-plaguing poor me, who longed to be rid of them, and was 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 were going to pawn every thing, and begged and prayed

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

"It is I, Rawdon," she said, in a timid voice, which she strove to render cheerful. "It is Jane." Rawdon was quite overcome by that kind voice and presence. He ran

know the cause of his emotion.

up to her-caught her in his arms-gasped | white face. At the next instant she tried out soine inarticulate words of thanks, and a smile, a horrid smile, as if to welcome fairly sobbed on her shoulder. She did not her husband; and Steyne rose up, grinding his teeth, pale, and with fury in his 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 his mouth twitching as he tried to grin at the intruder.

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There was that in Rawdon's face which caused Becky to fling herself before him. "I am innocent, Rawdon," she said: "before God, I am innocent." She clung hold of his coat, of his hands; her own were all

The bills of Mr. Moss were quickly settled, perhaps to the`disappointment of that gentleman, who had counted on having the colouel as his guest over Sunday at least and Jane, with beaming smiles and happiness in her eyes, carried away Rawdon from the bailiff's house, and they went homeward in the cab in which she had hastened to his release. 6. Pitt was gone to a parlamentary dinner," she said, when Rawdon's note came, and so, dear Rawdon, I-I came my-covered with serpents, and rings, and baubles. self;" and she put her kind hand in his. "I am innocent. Say I am innocent," she Perhaps it was well for Rawdon Crawley said to Lord Steyne. that Pitt was away at that dinner. Raw. don thanked his sister a hundred times, and with an ardor of gratitude which touched and almost alarmed that soft-hearted woman. "Oh," said he, in his rude, artless way, "you-you don't know how I'm changed since I've known you, and—and little Rawdy. -I'd like to change somehow. You see I want-I want-to be-" He did not finish the sentence, but she could interpret it. And that night after he left her, and as she sate by her own little boy's bed, she prayed humbly for that poor way worn sin

ner.

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 at length came up breath- | less opposite his own house. He started back and fell against the railings, trembling as he looked up. The drawing room windows were blazing with light. She had said that she was in bed and ill. He stood there for some time, the light from the rooms on his pale face.

He took out his door-key and let himself into the house. He could hear laughter in the upper rooms. He was in the bull-dress in which he had been captured the night before. He went silently up the stairs; leaning against the bannisters at the stair-head. Nobody was stirring in the house besides all the servants had been sent away. Rawdon heard laughter within-laughter and singing. Becky was singing a snatch of the 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 was laid out-and wine and plate. Steyne was hanging over the sofa on which Becky sate. The wretched woman was in a brilliant full toilet, her arms and all her fingers sparkling with bracelets and rings; and the brilliants on her breast which Steyne had given her. He had her hand in his, and was bowing over it to kiss it, when Becky started up with a faint scream as she caught sight of Rawdon's R

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He thought a trap had been laid for him, and was as furious with the wife as with the husband. You innocent! Damn you," he screamed out. "You innocent! Why every trinket you have on your body is paid for by me. I have given you thousands of pounds which this fellow has spent, and for which he has sold you. Innocent, by -! You're as innocent as your mother, the ballet-girl, and your husband the bully. Don't think to frighten me as you have done others. Make way, sir, and let me pass;" 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 for a moment doubting that the other would give way.

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But Rawdon Crawley springing out seized him by the neck-cloth, until Steyne, almost strangled, writhed and bent under his arm. You lie, you dog!" said Rawdon. You lie, you coward and villain!" And he struck the peer twice over the face with his open hand, and flung him bleeding to the ground. It was all done before Rebecca could interpose. She stood there trembling before him. She admired her husbaud, strong, brave, and victorious.

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

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

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

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"No," said Rebecca, "that is" "Give me the keys," Rawdon answered, and they went out together.

Rebecca gave him all the keys but one:

and she was in hopes that he would not have remarked the absence of that. It belonged to the little desk which Amelia had given her in early days, and which she kept in a secret place. But Rawdon flung open boxes and wardrobes, throwing the multifarious trumpery of their contents here and there, and at last he found the desk. The woman was forced to open it. It contained papers, loveletters many years old-all sorts of small trinkets and woman's memoranda. And it contained a pocket-book with bank notes. Some of these were dated ten years back, too, and one was quite a fresh one-a note 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, who was kind to the boy, and some of the debts. You will let me know where I shall send the rest to you. You might have spared me a hundred pounds, Becky, out of all this-I have always shared with you."

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

her mistress to lie down on the bed. Then she went below and gathered up the trinkets which had been lying on the floor since Rebecca dropped them there at her husband's orders, and Lord Steyne went away.

CHAPTER LIV.

SUNDAY AFTER THE BATTLE.

THE mansion of Sir Pitt Crawley in Great Gaunt-street, was just beginning to dress itself for the day, as Rawdon, in his evening costume, which he had now worn two days, passed by the scared female who was scouring the steps, and entered into his brother's study. Lady Jane, in her morning-gown, was up and above stairs in the nursery, superintending the toilets of her children, and listening to the morning prayers which the little creatures performed at her knee. Every morning she and they performed this duty privately, and before the public ceremonial at which Sir Pitt presided, and at which all the people of the household were expected to assemble. Rawdon sate down in the study before the baronet's table, set out with the orderly blue books and the letters, the neatly docketed bills and symmetrical pamphlets; the locked account-books, desks, and dispatch boxes, the Bible, the Quarterly Review and the Court Guide, which all stood as if on parade awaiting the inspection of their chief.

A book of family, sermons, one of which Sir Pitt was in the habit of administering to his family on Sunday mornings, lay ready on the study table, and awaiting his judicious selection. And by the sermon-book was the Observer newspaper, damp and neatly folded, and for Sir Pitt's own private use. His gentleman alone took the opportunity of perusing the newspaper before he laid it by his master's desk. Before he had brought it into the study that morning, he had read in the journal a flaming account of Festivities at Gaunt House," with the

What were her thoughts when he left her? She remained for hours after he was gone, the sunshine pouring into the room, and Rebecca sitting alone on the bed's edge. The drawers were all opened and their contents scattered about-dresses and feathers, scarfs and trinkets, a heap of tumbled vanities lying in a wreck. Her hair was falling over her shoulders; her gown was torn where Rawdon had wrenched the brilliants out of it. She heard him go down stairs a few minutes after he left her, and the door slamming and closing on him. She knew he would never come back. He was gone forever. Would he kill himself? she thought -not until after he had met Lord Steyne. She thought of her long past life, and all the dismal incidents of it. Ah, how dreary it seemed, how miserable, lonely and profitless! Should she take laudanum, and end it, too-names of all the distinguished personages have done with all hopes, schemes, debts, and triumphs? The French maid found her in this position-sitting in the midst of her miserable ruins with clasped hands and dry eyes. The woman was her accomplice and in Steyne's pay. • Mon Dieu, madame, what has happened?" she asked.

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What had happened? Was she guilty or not? She said not; but who could tell what was truth which came from those lips; or if that corrupt heart was in this case pure? All her lies and her schemes, all her selfishness and her wiles, all her wit and genius had come to this bankruptcy. The woman closed the curtains, and with some entreaty and show of kindness, persuaded

invited by the Marquis of Steyne to meet his Royal Highness. Having read comments upon this entertainment to the housekeeper and her niece as they were taking early tea and hot-buttered toast in the former lady's apartment, and wondered how the Rawding Crawleys could git on, the valet had damped and folded the paper once more, so that it looked quite fresh and innocent against the arrival of the master of the house.

Poor Rawdon took up the paper and began to try and read it until his brother should arrive. But the print fell blank upon his eyes; and he did not know in the least what he was reading. The Government news and appointments (which Sir Pitt as

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