Whatever his sensations might have been, however, the stem old man

would have no confidant. He never mentioned his son's name to his

daughters; but ordered the elder to place all the females of the

establishment in mourning; and desired that the male servants should be

similarly attired in deep black. All parties and entertainments, of

course, were to be put off. No communications were made to his future

son-in-law, whose marriage-day had been fixed: but there was enough in

Mr. Osborne's appearance to prevent Mr. Bullock from making any

inquiries, or in any way pressing forward that ceremony. He and the

ladies whispered about it under their voices in the drawing-room

sometimes, whither the father never came. He remained constantly in

his own study; the whole front part of the house being closed until

some time after the completion of the general mourning.

About three weeks after the 18th of June, Mr. Osborne's acquaintance,

Sir William Dobbin, called at Mr. Osborne's house in Russell Square,

with a very pale and agitated face, and insisted upon seeing that

gentleman. Ushered into his room, and after a few words, which neither

the speaker nor the host understood, the former produced from an

inclosure a letter sealed with a large red seal. "My son, Major

Dobbin," the Alderman said, with some hesitation, "despatched me a

letter by an officer of the --th, who arrived in town to-day. My son's

letter contains one for you, Osborne." The Alderman placed the letter

on the table, and Osborne stared at him for a moment or two in silence.

His looks frightened the ambassador, who after looking guiltily for a

little time at the grief-stricken man, hurried away without another

word.

The letter was in George's well-known bold handwriting. It was that one

which he had written before daybreak on the 16th of June, and just

before he took leave of Amelia. The great red seal was emblazoned with

the sham coat of arms which Osborne had assumed from the Peerage, with

"Pax in bello" for a motto; that of the ducal house with which the vain

old man tried to fancy himself connected. The hand that signed it would

never hold pen or sword more. The very seal that sealed it had been

robbed from George's dead body as it lay on the field of battle. The

father knew nothing of this, but sat and looked at the letter in

terrified vacancy. He almost fell when he went to open it.

Have you ever had a difference with a dear friend? How his letters,

written in the period of love and confidence, sicken and rebuke you!

What a dreary mourning it is to dwell upon those vehement protests of

dead affection! What lying epitaphs they make over the corpse of love!

What dark, cruel comments upon Life and Vanities! Most of us have got

or written drawers full of them. They are closet-skeletons which we

keep and shun. Osborne trembled long before the letter from his dead

son.




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