It now became clear to every soul in the house, except
poor Amelia, that Rebecca should take her departure,
and high and low (always with the one exception) agreed
that that event should take place as speedily as possible.
Our good child ransacked all her drawers, cupboards,
reticules, and gimcrack boxes—passed in
review all her gowns, fichus, tags, bobbins, laces,
silk stockings, and fallals— selecting
this thing and that and the other, to make a little
heap for Rebecca. And going to her Papa, that
generous British merchant, who had promised to give
her as many guineas as she was years old—
she begged the old gentleman to give the money to dear
Rebecca, who must want it, while she lacked for nothing.
She even made George Osborne contribute, and nothing
loth (for he was as free-handed a young fellow as
any in the army), he went to Bond Street, and bought
the best hat and spenser that money could buy.
“That’s George’s present to you,
Rebecca, dear,” said Amelia, quite proud of
the bandbox conveying these gifts. “What
a taste he has! There’s nobody like him.”
“Nobody,” Rebecca answered. “How
thankful I am to him!” She was thinking in her
heart, “It was George Osborne who prevented my
marriage.”—And she loved George Osborne
accordingly.
She made her preparations for departure with great
equanimity; and accepted all the kind little Amelia’s
presents, after just the proper degree of hesitation
and reluctance. She vowed eternal gratitude
to Mrs. Sedley, of course; but did not intrude herself
upon that good lady too much, who was embarrassed,
and evidently wishing to avoid her. She kissed
Mr. Sedley’s hand, when he presented her with
the purse; and asked permission to consider him for
the future as her kind, kind friend and protector.
Her behaviour was so affecting that he was going
to write her a cheque for twenty pounds more; but
he restrained his feelings: the carriage was
in waiting to take him to dinner, so he tripped away
with a “God bless you, my dear, always come
here when you come to town, you know.—Drive
to the Mansion House, James.”
Finally came the parting with Miss Amelia, over which
picture I intend to throw a veil. But after
a scene in which one person was in earnest and the
other a perfect performer—after the tenderest
caresses, the most pathetic tears, the smelling-bottle,
and some of the very best feelings of the heart, had
been called into requisition—Rebecca and
Amelia parted, the former vowing to love her friend
for ever and ever and ever.
Crawley of Queen’s Crawley
Among the most respected of the names beginning in
C which the Court-Guide contained, in the year 18—,
was that of Crawley, Sir Pitt, Baronet, Great Gaunt
Street, and Queen’s Crawley, Hants. This
honourable name had figured constantly also in the
Parliamentary list for many years, in conjunction
with that of a number of other worthy gentlemen who
sat in turns for the borough.
