elia.

"Listen to me, Amelia," said Becky, marching up and down the room
before the other and surveying her with a sort of contemptuous
kindness. "I want to talk to you. You must go away from here and from
the impertinences of these men. I won't have you harassed by them:
and they will insult you if you stay. I tell you they are rascals: men
fit to send to the hulks. Never mind how I know them. I know
everybody. Jos can't protect you; he is too weak and wants a protector
himself. You are no more fit to live in the world than a baby in arms.
You must marry, or you and your precious boy will go to ruin. You must
have a husband, you fool; and one of the best gentlemen I ever saw has
offered you a hundred times, and you have rejected him, you silly,
heartless, ungrateful little creature!"

"I tried--I tried my best, indeed I did, Rebecca," said Amelia
deprecatingly, "but I couldn't forget--"; and she finished the sentence
by looking up at the portrait.

"Couldn't forget HIM!" cried out Becky, "that selfish humbug, that
low-bred cockney dandy, that padded booby, who had neither wit, nor
manners, nor heart, and was no more to be compared to your friend with
the bamboo cane than you are to Queen Elizabeth. Why, the man was
weary of you, and would have jilted you, but that Dobbin forced him to
keep his word. He owned it to me. He never cared for you. He used to
sneer about you to me, time after time, and made love to me the week
after he married you."

"It's false! It's false! Rebecca," cried out Amelia, starting up.

"Look there, you fool," Becky said, still with provoking good humour,
and taking a little paper out of her belt, she opened it and flung it
into Emmy's lap. "You know his handwriting. He wrote that to
me--wanted me to run away with him--gave it me under your nose, the day
before he was shot--and served him right!" Becky repeated.

Emmy did not hear her; she was looking at the letter. It was that which
George had put into the bouquet and given to Becky on the night of the
Duchess of Richmond's ball. It was as she said: the foolish young man
had asked her to fly.

Emmy's head sank down, and for almost the last time in which she shall
be called upon to weep in this history, she commenced that work. Her
head fell to her bosom, and her hands went up to her eyes; and there
for a while, she gave way to her emotions, as Becky stood on and
regarded her. Who shall analyse those tears and say whethe