Vanity Fair - Page 390/573

She ran on amazed and flurried with her riches to Darton's shop, in St.

Paul's Churchyard, and there purchased the Parents' Assistant and the

Sandford and Merton Georgy longed for, and got into the coach there

with her parcel, and went home exulting. And she pleased herself by

writing in the fly-leaf in her neatest little hand, "George Osborne, A

Christmas gift from his affectionate mother." The books are extant to

this day, with the fair delicate superscription.

She was going from her own room with the books in her hand to place

them on George's table, where he might find them on his return from

school, when in the passage, she and her mother met. The gilt bindings

of the seven handsome little volumes caught the old lady's eye.

"What are those?" she said.

"Some books for Georgy," Amelia replied--"I--I promised them to him at

Christmas."

"Books!" cried the elder lady indignantly, "Books, when the whole house

wants bread! Books, when to keep you and your son in luxury, and your

dear father out of gaol, I've sold every trinket I had, the India shawl

from my back even down to the very spoons, that our tradesmen mightn't

insult us, and that Mr. Clapp, which indeed he is justly entitled,

being not a hard landlord, and a civil man, and a father, might have

his rent. Oh, Amelia! you break my heart with your books and that boy

of yours, whom you are ruining, though part with him you will not. Oh,

Amelia, may God send you a more dutiful child than I have had! There's

Jos, deserts his father in his old age; and there's George, who might

be provided for, and who might be rich, going to school like a lord,

with a gold watch and chain round his neck--while my dear, dear old man

is without a sh--shilling." Hysteric sobs and cries ended Mrs. Sedley's

speech--it echoed through every room in the small house, whereof the

other female inmates heard every word of the colloquy.

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" cried poor Amelia in reply. "You told me

nothing--I--I promised him the books. I--I only sold my shawl this

morning. Take the money--take everything"--and with quivering hands

she took out her silver, and her sovereigns--her precious golden

sovereigns, which she thrust into the hands of her mother, whence they

overflowed and tumbled, rolling down the stairs.

And then she went into her room, and sank down in despair and utter

misery. She saw it all now. Her selfishness was sacrificing the boy.

But for her he might have wealth, station, education, and his father's

place, which the elder George had forfeited for her sake. She had but

to speak the words, and her father was restored to competency and the

boy raised to fortune. Oh, what a conviction it was to that tender and

stricken heart!