If the Major had twitched before, he started now, and slapped the

bamboo on the ground with an emphasis which made Miss Clapp cry, "Law,"

and laugh too. He stood for a moment, silent, with open mouth, looking

after the retreating young couple, while Miss Mary told their history;

but he did not hear beyond the announcement of the reverend gentleman's

marriage; his head was swimming with felicity. After this rencontre he

began to walk double quick towards the place of his destination--and

yet they were too soon (for he was in a great tremor at the idea of a

meeting for which he had been longing any time these ten

years)--through the Brompton lanes, and entering at the little old

portal in Kensington Garden wall.

"There they are," said Miss Polly, and she felt him again start back on

her arm. She was a confidante at once of the whole business. She knew

the story as well as if she had read it in one of her favourite

novel-books--Fatherless Fanny, or the Scottish Chiefs.

"Suppose you were to run on and tell her," the Major said. Polly ran

forward, her yellow shawl streaming in the breeze.

Old Sedley was seated on a bench, his handkerchief placed over his

knees, prattling away, according to his wont, with some old story about

old times to which Amelia had listened and awarded a patient smile many

a time before. She could of late think of her own affairs, and smile

or make other marks of recognition of her father's stories, scarcely

hearing a word of the old man's tales. As Mary came bouncing along, and

Amelia caught sight of her, she started up from her bench. Her first

thought was that something had happened to Georgy, but the sight of the

messenger's eager and happy face dissipated that fear in the timorous

mother's bosom.

"News! News!" cried the emissary of Major Dobbin. "He's come! He's

come!"

"Who is come?" said Emmy, still thinking of her son.

"Look there," answered Miss Clapp, turning round and pointing; in which

direction Amelia looking, saw Dobbin's lean figure and long shadow

stalking across the grass. Amelia started in her turn, blushed up,

and, of course, began to cry. At all this simple little creature's

fetes, the grandes eaux were accustomed to play. He looked at her--oh,

how fondly--as she came running towards him, her hands before her,

ready to give them to him. She wasn't changed. She was a little pale,

a little stouter in figure. Her eyes were the same, the kind trustful

eyes. There were scarce three lines of silver in her soft brown hair.

She gave him both her hands as she looked up flushing and smiling

through her tears into his honest homely face. He took the two little

hands between his two and held them there. He was speechless for a

moment. Why did he not take her in his arms and swear that he would

never leave her? She must have yielded: she could not but have obeyed

him.




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