-seat to
perfection. "Quiet, old lady!--easy, my dear! Well, when I found the
little beggar turning tail in this way I said to him, 'Dash me, sir, if
you don't want me, why the dash do you send for me, dash me? Yesterday
you talked as if you would bite the Colonel's head off, and to-day, when
his son offers you every accommodation, by dash, sir, you're afraid to
meet him. It's my belief you had better send for a policeman. A 22 is
your man, Sir Barnes Newcome.' And with that I turned on my heel and
left him. And the fellow went off to Newcome that very night."

"A poor devil can't command courage, General," said the Colonel, quite
peaceably, "any more than he can make himself six feet high."

"Then why the dash did the beggar send for me?" called out General
Sir George Tufto, in a loud and resolute voice; and presently the two
officers parted company.

When the Colonel reached home, Mr. Warrington and Mr. Pendennis happened
to be on a visit to Clive, and all three were in the young fellow's
painting-room. We knew our lad was unhappy, and did our little best to
amuse and console him. The Colonel came in. It was in the dark February
days: we lighted the gas in the studio. Clive had made a sketch from
some favourite verses of mine and George's: those charming lines of
Scott's:--

"He turned his charger as he spake,
Beside the river shore;
He gave his bridle-rein a shake,
With adieu for evermore,
My dear!
Adieu for evermore!"

Thomas Newcome held up a finger at Warrington, and he came up to the
picture and looked at it; and George and I trolled out:

"Adieu for evermore,
My dear!
Adieu for evermore!"

From the picture the brave old Colonel turned to the painter, regarding
his son with a look of beautiful inexpressible affection. And he laid
his hand on his son's shoulder, and smiled, and stroked Clive's yellow
moustache.

"And--and did Barnes send no answer to that letter you wrote him?" he
said, slowly.

Clive broke out into a laugh that was almost a sob. He took both his
father's hands. "My dear, dear old father!" says he, "what a--what
an--old--trump you are!" My eyes were so dim I could hardly see the two
men as they embraced.

CHAPTER LIV. Has a Tragical Ending

Clive presently answered the question which his father put to him in the
last chapter, by producing from the ledge of his easel a crumpled paper,
full of Cave