And so, making his last dispositions, Captain Crawley, who had seldom

thought about anything but himself, until the last few months of his

life, when Love had obtained the mastery over the dragoon, went through

the various items of his little catalogue of effects, striving to see

how they might be turned into money for his wife's benefit, in case any

accident should befall him. He pleased himself by noting down with a

pencil, in his big schoolboy handwriting, the various items of his

portable property which might be sold for his widow's advantage as, for

example, "My double-barril by Manton, say 40 guineas; my driving cloak,

lined with sable fur, 50 pounds; my duelling pistols in rosewood case

(same which I shot Captain Marker), 20 pounds; my regulation

saddle-holsters and housings; my Laurie ditto," and so forth, over all

of which articles he made Rebecca the mistress.

Faithful to his plan of economy, the Captain dressed himself in his

oldest and shabbiest uniform and epaulets, leaving the newest behind,

under his wife's (or it might be his widow's) guardianship. And this

famous dandy of Windsor and Hyde Park went off on his campaign with a

kit as modest as that of a sergeant, and with something like a prayer

on his lips for the woman he was leaving. He took her up from the

ground, and held her in his arms for a minute, tight pressed against

his strong-beating heart. His face was purple and his eyes dim, as he

put her down and left her. He rode by his General's side, and smoked

his cigar in silence as they hastened after the troops of the General's

brigade, which preceded them; and it was not until they were some miles

on their way that he left off twirling his moustache and broke silence.

And Rebecca, as we have said, wisely determined not to give way to

unavailing sentimentality on her husband's departure. She waved him an

adieu from the window, and stood there for a moment looking out after

he was gone. The cathedral towers and the full gables of the quaint old

houses were just beginning to blush in the sunrise. There had been no

rest for her that night. She was still in her pretty ball-dress, her

fair hair hanging somewhat out of curl on her neck, and the circles

round her eyes dark with watching. "What a fright I seem," she said,

examining herself in the glass, "and how pale this pink makes one

look!" So she divested herself of this pink raiment; in doing which a

note fell out from her corsage, which she picked up with a smile, and

locked into her dressing-box. And then she put her bouquet of the ball

into a glass of water, and went to bed, and slept very comfortably.

The town was quite quiet when she woke up at ten o'clock, and partook

of coffee, very requisite and comforting after the exhaustion and grief

of the morning's occurrences.




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