He was obliged to confirm
the news which Sherrick had given me, and to own, in fact, that all his
pension was swallowed up by a payment of interest and life insurance for
sums which he had been compelled to borrow. How could he do otherwise
than meet his engagements? Thank God, he had Clive's full approval for
what he had done--had communicated the circumstance to his son almost
immediately after it took place, and that was a comfort to him--an
immense comfort. "For the women are very angry," said the poor Colonel;
"you see they do not understand the laws of honour, at least as we
understand them: and perhaps I was wrong in hiding the truth as I
certainly did from Mrs. Mackenzie, but I acted for the best--I hoped
against hope that some chance might turn in our favour. God knows, I
had a hard task enough in wearing a cheerful face for months, and in
following my little Rosa about to her parties and balls; but poor Mrs.
Mackenzie has a right to be angry, only I wish my little girl did not
side with her mother so entirely, for the loss of her affection gives me
great pain."

So it was as I suspected. The Campaigner ruled over this family, and
added to all their distresses by her intolerable presence and tyranny.
"Why, sir," I ventured to ask, "if, as I gather from you--and I
remember," I added with a laugh, "certain battles-royal which Clive
described to me in old days--if you and the Campai--Mrs. Mackenzie do
not agree, why should she continue to live with you, when you would all
be so much happier apart?"

"She has a right to live in the house," says the Colonel; "It is I
who have no right in it. I am a poor old pensioner, don't you see,
subsisting on Rosey's bounty? We live on the hundred a year, secured to
her at her marriage, and Mrs. Mackenzie has her forty pounds of pension
which she adds to the common stock. It is I who have made away with
every shilling of Rosey's 17,000 pounds, God help me, and with 1500
pounds of her mother's. They put their little means together, and they
keep us--me and Clive. What can we do for a living? Great God! What can
we do? Why, I am so useless that even when my poor boy earned 25 pounds
for his picture, I felt we were bound to send it to Sarah Mason, and you
may fancy when this came to Mrs. Mackenzie's ears, what a life my boy
and I led. I have never spoken of these things to any mortal soul--I
even don't speak of them with Clive--but seeing your kind and honest
face has made me tal