The bills were up in the Sedley house, where he had passed so many, many happy hours.He could see them as he walked from home that night (to the Old Slaughters', where he put up when in town) shining white in the moon.That comfortable home was shut, then, upon Amelia and her parents: where had they taken refuge?
The thought of their ruin affected him not a little.He was very melancholy that night in the coffee-room at the Slaughters'; and drank a good deal, as his comrades remarked there.
Dobbin came in presently, cautioned him about the drink, which he only took, he said, because he was deuced low; but when his friend began to put to him clumsy inquiries, and asked him for news in a significant manner, Osborne declined entering into conversation with him, avowing, however, that he was devilish disturbed and unhappy.
Three days afterwards, Dobbin found Osborne in his room at the barracks--his head on the table, a number of papers about, the young Captain evidently in a state of great despondency."She--she's sent me back some things I gave her--some damned trinkets.Look here!"There was a little packet directed in the well-known hand to Captain George Osborne, and some things lying about --a ring, a silver knife he had bought, as a boy, for her at a fair; a gold chain, and a locket with hair in it."It's all over," said he, with a groan of sickening remorse.
"Look, Will, you may read it if you like."There was a little letter of a few lines, to which he pointed, which said:
My papa has ordered me to return to you these presents, which you made in happier days to me; and Iam to write to you for the last time.I think, I know you feel as much as I do the blow which has come upon us.
It is I that absolve you from an engagement which is impossible in our present misery.I am sure you had no share in it, or in the cruel suspicions of Mr.Osborne, which are the hardest of all our griefs to bear.Farewell.
Farewell.I pray God to strengthen me to bear this and other calamities, and to bless you always.A.
I shall often play upon the piano--your piano.It was like you to send it.
Dobbin was very soft-hearted.The sight of women and children in pain always used to melt him.The idea of Amelia broken-hearted and lonely tore that good-natured soul with anguish.And he broke out into an emotion, which anybody who likes may consider unmanly.
He swore that Amelia was an angel, to which Osborne said aye with all his heart.He, too, had been reviewing the history of their lives--and had seen her from her childhood to her present age, so sweet, so innocent, so charmingly simple, and artlessly fond and tender.
What a pang it was to lose all that: to have had it and not prized it! A thousand homely scenes and recollections crowded on him--in which he always saw her good and beautiful.And for himself, he blushed with remorse and shame, as the remembrance of his own selfishness and indifference contrasted with that perfect purity.For a while, glory, war, everything was forgotten, and the pair of friends talked about her only.
