Vanity Fair - Page 298/573

As after the drive to Waterloo, Mr. Osborne's carriage was nearing the

gates of the city at sunset, they met another open barouche, in which

were a couple of ladies and a gentleman, and by the side of which an

officer was riding. Osborne gave a start back, and the Sergeant,

seated with him, cast a look of surprise at his neighbour, as he

touched his cap to the officer, who mechanically returned his salute.

It was Amelia, with the lame young Ensign by her side, and opposite to

her her faithful friend Mrs. O'Dowd. It was Amelia, but how changed

from the fresh and comely girl Osborne knew. Her face was white and

thin. Her pretty brown hair was parted under a widow's cap--the poor

child. Her eyes were fixed, and looking nowhere. They stared blank in

the face of Osborne, as the carriages crossed each other, but she did

not know him; nor did he recognise her, until looking up, he saw Dobbin

riding by her: and then he knew who it was. He hated her. He did not

know how much until he saw her there. When her carriage had passed on,

he turned and stared at the Sergeant, with a curse and defiance in his

eye cast at his companion, who could not help looking at him--as much

as to say "How dare you look at me? Damn you! I do hate her. It is

she who has tumbled my hopes and all my pride down." "Tell the

scoundrel to drive on quick," he shouted with an oath, to the lackey on

the box. A minute afterwards, a horse came clattering over the pavement

behind Osborne's carriage, and Dobbin rode up. His thoughts had been

elsewhere as the carriages passed each other, and it was not until he

had ridden some paces forward, that he remembered it was Osborne who

had just passed him. Then he turned to examine if the sight of her

father-in-law had made any impression on Amelia, but the poor girl did

not know who had passed. Then William, who daily used to accompany her

in his drives, taking out his watch, made some excuse about an

engagement which he suddenly recollected, and so rode off. She did not

remark that either: but sate looking before her, over the homely

landscape towards the woods in the distance, by which George marched

away.

"Mr. Osborne, Mr. Osborne!" cried Dobbin, as he rode up and held out

his hand. Osborne made no motion to take it, but shouted out once more

and with another curse to his servant to drive on.

Dobbin laid his hand on the carriage side. "I will see you, sir," he

said. "I have a message for you."

"From that woman?" said Osborne, fiercely.

"No," replied the other, "from your son"; at which Osborne fell back

into the corner of his carriage, and Dobbin allowing it to pass on,

rode close behind it, and so through the town until they reached Mr.

Osborne's hotel, and without a word. There he followed Osborne up to

his apartments. George had often been in the rooms; they were the

lodgings which the Crawleys had occupied during their stay in Brussels.