Vanity Fair - Page 255/573

Rebecca's appearance struck Amelia with terror, and made her shrink

back. It recalled her to the world and the remembrance of yesterday.

In the overpowering fears about to-morrow she had forgotten

Rebecca--jealousy--everything except that her husband was gone and was

in danger. Until this dauntless worldling came in and broke the spell,

and lifted the latch, we too have forborne to enter into that sad

chamber. How long had that poor girl been on her knees! what hours of

speechless prayer and bitter prostration had she passed there! The

war-chroniclers who write brilliant stories of fight and triumph

scarcely tell us of these. These are too mean parts of the pageant:

and you don't hear widows' cries or mothers' sobs in the midst of the

shouts and jubilation in the great Chorus of Victory. And yet when was

the time that such have not cried out: heart-broken, humble

protestants, unheard in the uproar of the triumph!

After the first movement of terror in Amelia's mind--when Rebecca's

green eyes lighted upon her, and rustling in her fresh silks and

brilliant ornaments, the latter tripped up with extended arms to

embrace her--a feeling of anger succeeded, and from being deadly pale

before, her face flushed up red, and she returned Rebecca's look after

a moment with a steadiness which surprised and somewhat abashed her

rival.

"Dearest Amelia, you are very unwell," the visitor said, putting forth

her hand to take Amelia's. "What is it? I could not rest until I knew

how you were."

Amelia drew back her hand--never since her life began had that gentle

soul refused to believe or to answer any demonstration of good-will or

affection. But she drew back her hand, and trembled all over. "Why

are you here, Rebecca?" she said, still looking at her solemnly with

her large eyes. These glances troubled her visitor.

"She must have seen him give me the letter at the ball," Rebecca

thought. "Don't be agitated, dear Amelia," she said, looking down. "I

came but to see if I could--if you were well."

"Are you well?" said Amelia. "I dare say you are. You don't love your

husband. You would not be here if you did. Tell me, Rebecca, did I

ever do you anything but kindness?"

"Indeed, Amelia, no," the other said, still hanging down her head.

"When you were quite poor, who was it that befriended you? Was I not a

sister to you? You saw us all in happier days before he married me. I

was all in all then to him; or would he have given up his fortune, his

family, as he nobly did to make me happy? Why did you come between my

love and me? Who sent you to separate those whom God joined, and take

my darling's heart from me--my own husband? Do you think you could I

love him as I did? His love was everything to me. You knew it, and

wanted to rob me of it. For shame, Rebecca; bad and wicked

woman--false friend and false wife."