e pigeon. We pass over the scenes that followed; the
young man's passionate entreaties, and fury and despair. In his own
defence, and to prove his honour to the world, M. de Blois determined
that his daughter should instantly marry the Count. The poor girl
yielded without a word, as became her; and it was with this marriage
effected almost before his eyes, and frantic with wrath and despair,
that young Newcome embarked for India, and quitted the parents whom he
was never more to see.

Tom's name was no more mentioned at Clapham. His letters to his father
were written to the City; very pleasant they were, and comforting to the
father's heart. He sent Tom liberal private remittances to India, until
the boy wrote to say that he wanted no more. Mr. Newcome would have
liked to leave Tom all his private fortune, for the twins were only
too well cared for; but he dared not on account of his terror of Sophia
Alethea, his wife; and he died, and poor Tom was only secretly forgiven.

CHAPTER III. Colonel Newcome's Letter-box

I. "With the most heartfelt joy, my dear Major, I take up my pen to
announce to you the happy arrival of the Ramchunder, and the dearest and
handsomest little boy who, I am sure, ever came from India. Little Clive
is in perfect health. He speaks English wonderfully well. He cried when
he parted from Mr. Sneid, the supercargo, who most kindly brought him
from Southampton in a postchaise, but these tears in childhood are of
very brief duration! The voyage, Mr. Sneid states, was most favourable,
occupying only four months and eleven days. How different from that more
lengthened and dangerous passage of eight months, and almost perpetual
sea-sickness, in which my poor dear sister Emma went to Bengal, to
become the wife of the best of husbands and the mother of the dearest
of little boys, and to enjoy these inestimable blessings for so brief an
interval! She has quitted this wicked and wretched world for one where
all is peace. The misery and ill-treatment which she endured from
Captain Case her first odious husband, were, I am sure, amply repaid,
my dear Colonel, by your subsequent affection. If the most sumptuous
dresses which London, even Paris, could supply, jewellery the most
costly, and elegant lace, and everything lovely and fashionable, could
content a woman, these, I am sure, during the last four years of her
life, the poor girl had. Of what avail are they when this scene of
vanity is closed?