At last Dobbin summoned courage to begin. "Sir," said he, "I've
brought you some very grave news. I have been at the Horse Guards this
morning, and there's no doubt that our regiment will be ordered abroad,
and on its way to Belgium before the week is over. And you know, sir,
that we shan't be home again before a tussle which may be fatal to many
of us." Osborne looked grave. "My s--, the regiment will do its
duty, sir, I daresay," he said.
"The French are very strong, sir," Dobbin went on. "The Russians and
Austrians will be a long time before they can bring their troops down.
We shall have the first of the fight, sir; and depend on it Boney will
take care that it shall be a hard one."
"What are you driving at, Dobbin?" his interlocutor said, uneasy and
with a scowl. "I suppose no Briton's afraid of any d---- Frenchman,
hey?"
"I only mean, that before we go, and considering the great and certain
risk that hangs over every one of us--if there are any differences
between you and George--it would be as well, sir, that--that you
should shake hands: wouldn't it? Should anything happen to him, I
think you would never forgive yourself if you hadn't parted in charity."
As he said this, poor William Dobbin blushed crimson, and felt and
owned that he himself was a traitor. But for him, perhaps, this
severance need never have taken place. Why had not George's marriage
been delayed? What call was there to press it on so eagerly? He felt
that George would have parted from Amelia at any rate without a mortal
pang. Amelia, too, MIGHT have recovered the shock of losing him. It
was his counsel had brought about this marriage, and all that was to
ensue from it. And why was it? Because he loved her so much that he
could not bear to see her unhappy: or because his own sufferings of
suspense were so unendurable that he was glad to crush them at once--as
we hasten a funeral after a death, or, when a separation from those we
love is imminent, cannot rest until the parting be over.
"You are a good fellow, William," said Mr. Osborne in a softened voice;
"and me and George shouldn't part in anger, that is true. Look here.
I've done for him as much as any father ever did. He's had three times
as much money from me, as I warrant your father ever gave you. But I
don't brag about that. How I've toiled for him, and worked and
employed my talents and energy, I won't say. Ask Chopper. Ask
himself. Ask the City of London. Well, I propose to him such a
marriage as any nobleman in the land might be proud of--the only thing
in life I ever asked him--and he refuses me. Am I wrong? Is the
quarrel of MY making? What do I seek but his good, for which I've been
toiling like a convict ever since he was born? Nobody can say there's
anything selfish in me. Let him come back. I say, here's my hand. I
say, forget and forgive. As for marrying now, it's out of the
question. Let him and Miss S. make it up, and make out the marriage
afterwards, when he comes back a Colonel; for he shall be a Colonel, by
G-- he shall, if money can do it. I'm glad you've brought him round.
I know it's you, Dobbin. You've took him out of many a scrape before.
Let him come. I shan't be hard. Come along, and dine in Russell
Square to-day: both of you. The old shop, the old hour. You'll find a
neck of venison, and no questions asked."