child, and then to make some final stipulation with the Campaigner.
He saw, as well as we, that the presence and tyranny of that fatal woman
destroyed his father's health and spirits--that the old man knew no
peace or comfort in her neighbourhood, and was actually hastening to his
grave under that dreadful and unremitting persecution. Mrs. Mackenzie
made Clive scarcely less wretched than his father--she governed his
household--took away his weak wife's allegiance and affection from
him--and caused the wretchedness of every single person round about
her. They ought to live apart. If she was too poor to subsist upon her
widow's pension, which, in truth, was but a very small pittance, let
Clive give up to her, say, the half of his wife's income of one hundred
pounds a year. His prospects and present means of earning money were
such that he might afford to do without that portion of his income; at
any rate, he and his father would be cheaply ransomed at that price from
their imprisonment to this intolerable person. "Go, Clive," said his
counsellors, "and bring back your wife and child, and let us all be
happy together." For, you see, those advisers opined that if we had
written over to Mrs. Newcome--"Come"--she would have come with the
Campaigner in her suite.

Vowing that he would behave like a man of courage--and we knew
that Clive had shown himself to be such in two or three previous
battles--Clive crossed the water to bring back his little Rosey. Our
good Colonel agreed to dine at our house during the days of his son's
absence. I have said how beloved he was by young and old there--and he
was kind enough to say afterwards, that no woman had made him so happy
as Laura. We did not tell him--I know not from what reticence--that
we had advised Clive to offer a bribe of fifty pounds a year to Mrs.
Mackenzie; until about a fortnight after Clive's absence, and a week
after his return, when news came that poor old Mrs. Mason was dead at
Newcome, whereupon we informed the Colonel that he had another pensioner
now in the Campaigner.

Colonel Newcome was thankful that his dear old friend had gone out of
the world in comfort and without pain. She had made a will long since,
leaving all her goods and chattels to Thomas Newcome--but having no
money to give, the Colonel handed over these to the old lady's faithful
attendant, Keziah.

Although many of the Colonel's old friends had parted from him or
quarrelled with him in consequenc