Her words were oracles to him, her smallest actions marked by an infallible grace and wisdom.

"How she sings,--how she paints," thought he.

"How she rode that kicking mare at Queen's Crawley!" And he would say to her in confidential moments, "By Jove, Beck, you're fit to be Commander-in-Chief, or Archbishop of Canterbury, by Jove." Is his case a rare one?
and don't we see every day in the world many an honest Hercules at the apron-strings of Omphale, and great whiskered Samsons prostrate in Delilah's lap?
When, then, Becky told him that the great crisis was near, and the time for action had arrived, Rawdon expressed himself as ready to act under her orders, as he would be to charge with his troop at the command of his colonel.

There was no need for him to put his letter into the third volume of Porteus.

Rebecca easily found a means to get rid of Briggs, her companion, and met her faithful friend in "the usual place" on the next day.