I have
been visited with a bitter punishment, and I am now determined to go
back to my parents and to obtain their forgiveness before it is too
late."

Colonel Clive looked at me with some sympathy, mingled with wonder.

"I believe you have decided rightly," he said at last, when I had
finished. "God forbid that I should keep you from making your peace
with those who love you." His tone softened as he added: "My story is
different to yours. I didn't run away; I was driven, pitchforked out
of doors, and stuck into a miserable billet at Madras, where I nearly
ate my heart out with loneliness and repining. When I returned to
England it was not to ask forgiveness, but to give it, if a son can
take it upon himself to forgive his parent. No matter, all that is
past now, and I believe my family have found out that I am worth the
love they have to give me. Look here, my boy, I have no business to
talk like this to you; but, after all, we can't be always thinking of
rupees and Moorish tricks. Since you are bent on going to England, you
shall start in the ship which I am sending from Calcutta with the news
of our late proceedings, and I will give you a letter, which you are
to deliver privately into the hands of Mr. Pitt."

At this name I looked up with flushing cheeks.

"The great Mr. Pitt?" I exclaimed.

"Yes, the great Mr. Pitt," returned Colonel Clive, with a slight
inflection of bitterness in his tone. "But you are right, Ford, he is
a very great man, and though his battles have been won within the four
walls of St. Stephen's Chapel, while we lesser men have to fight in
very different scenes, far be it from me to grudge all honour to the
man who was the first to do honour to me. He is fortunate in having
for his theatre the senate of a great kingdom of Europe, I unfortunate
in having for mine a remote country of which half Europe has never
heard. Still, I recognise his merits, and it is for that reason I am
addressing myself to him on a subject which is near to my heart."

The Colonel paused for a few moments.

"But I cannot have you return to England empty-handed," he resumed.
"What is your share of the gratuity promised to the army I do not yet
know, but I tell you what you shall do: go into the treasury, and
help yourself while there is time."

I stared at this permission, but Colonel Clive merely nodded his head,
and turned to write the letter he had spoken of. Perceiving that he
was in earnest, I went off to t