No more firing was heard at Brussels--the pursuit rolled miles away.
Darkness came down on the field and city: and Amelia was praying for
George, who was lying on his face, dead, with a bullet through his
heart.


Take all the great critical scenes in the book, and note how simple,
and yet how full of pathos and of power, is the language in which they
are described. There is the last parting of George and Amelia as the
bugle rings to arms.


George came in and looked at her again, entering still more softly. By
the pale night-lamp he could see her sweet, pale face--the purple
eyelids were fringed and closed, and one round arm, smooth and white,
lay outside of the coverlet. Good God! how pure she was; how gentle,
how tender, and how friendless! and he, how selfish, brutal, and black
with crime! Heart-stained and shame-stricken, he stood at the bed's
foot, and looked at the sleeping girl. How dared he--who was he, to
pray for one so spotless! God bless her! God bless her! He came to
the bed-side, and looked at the hand, the little soft hand, lying
asleep; and he bent over the pillow noiselessly towards the gentle pale
face.


The whole tragedy of their lives is given in miniature in this touching
scene; and yet how natural and commonplace are all the effects of which
it is composed, how few and simple the words which describe such love
and such remorse. It is hard to judge in _Vanity Fair_ which are the
more perfect in style, the pathetic and tragic scenes or those which