Ярмарка тщеславия / Vanity Fair - стр. 23
If the sisters had any anxiety regarding the possible recognition of Amelia as a daughter of the family, it was increased presently, and towards the end of the autumn, by their father’s announcement that he was going abroad. He did not say whither, but they knew at once that his steps would be turned towards Belgium, and were aware that George’s widow was still in Brussels.
As after the drive to Waterloo, Mr. Osborne’s carriage was nearing the gates of the city at sunset, they met another one with a couple of ladies and a gentleman, and by the side of which an officer was riding.
It was Amelia but how changed from the fresh and comely girl Osborne knew. Her face was white and thin. Her pretty brown hair was parted under a widow’s cap – the poor child. Her eyes were fixed, and looking nowhere. They stared blank in the face of Osborne, as the carriages crossed each other, but she did not know him; nor did he recognize her, until looking up, he saw Dobbin riding by her: and then he knew who it was. He hated her. He did not know how much until he saw her there.
A minute afterwards, a horse came clattering over the pavement behind Osborne’s carriage, and Dobbin rode up. “Mr. Osborne, Mr. Osborne!” cried Dobbin, as he rode up and held out his hand. Osborne made no motion to take it, but shouted out once more and with another curse to his servant to drive on.
Dobbin laid his hand on the carriage side. “I will see you, sir,” he said. “I have a message for you.”
“From that woman?” said Osborne, fiercely.
“No,” replied the other, “from your son”; at which Osborne fell back into the corner of his carriage, and Dobbin allowing it to pass on.
“I am here as his closest friend,” the Major resumed, “and the executor of his will. He made it before he went into action. Are you aware how small his means are, and of the straitened circumstances of his widow?”
“I don’t know his widow, sir,” Osborne said. “Let her go back to her father.” But the gentleman whom he addressed was determined to remain in good temper, and went on.
“Do you know, sir, Mrs. Osborne’s condition? Her life and her reason almost have been shaken by the blow which has fallen on her. It is very doubtful whether she will rally. There is a chance left for her, however, and it is about this I came to speak to you. She will be a mother soon. Will you forgive the child for poor George’s sake?”
As for himself, Mr. Osborne, he was a man of his word. He had sworn never to speak to that woman, or to recognize her as his son’s wife. “And that’s what you may tell her,” he said; “and that’s what I will stick to to the last day of my life.”
Suppose some twelve months after the above conversation took place to have passed in the life of our poor Amelia. A day came – of almost terrified delight and wonder – when the poor widowed girl pressed a child upon her breast – a child, with the eyes of George who was gone – a little boy, as beautiful as a cherub.[21] What a miracle it was to hear its first cry! How she laughed and wept over it – how love, and hope, and prayer woke again in her bosom as the baby nestled there. She was safe.
Our friend Dobbin brought her back to England and to her mother’s house. To see Dobbin holding the infant, and to hear Amelia’s laugh of triumph as she watched him, would have done any man good who had a sense of humour. William was the godfather of the child.