A few days later a long procession of three hundred boats, laden with the money, plate and jewels that had been handed over to the British, set off with colors flying, amid strains of martial music, down the river to Calcutta.  Every man who had taken part in the expedition had a share of the vast treasure.  Desmond found himself richer by three thousand pounds.

Calcutta was en fete when the expedition returned.  Desmond was surprised to see how much had already been done to repair the ruin wrought by the Nawab.  A new city was rising from the ruins.  Congratulations were poured on the victors; and though now, as always, Clive had to contend with the jealousies of lesser men, there was none but had to admit that he was a great man who deserved well of his country.

Mr. Merriman at once completed the winding up of his business, begun months before.  His recent troubles had much aged him; India was to him now a hateful country, and he decided to return to England immediately with his wife and daughter.  He tried to persuade Desmond to accompany him, but in vain.

“’Tis very good of you, sir,” said Desmond warmly; “you have done so much for me.  But Mr. Clive has made me a captain:  his work is not yet done; and I do not feel that I can leave him until I have done something to justify his confidence in me.”

“Well, boys will be boys.  I have made a fortune here:  I suppose you want to do the same.  ’Tis natural.  But don’t stay in India as long as I have.  I don’t want to lose sight of you.  You have done me the best service man ever did:  you have avenged my brother and restored to me all that I held dearest in the world.  I love you as a son, Desmond; I wish you were my son, indeed, my boy.”

Desmond looked a little uncomfortable.

“May I venture—­” he began hesitatingly; “do you think, in some years’ time, if I get on here, I might—­”

“Well?”

“Do you think I might—­in short, that I might have a chance of becoming your son, sir?”

“Eh?  Is that it?  Mr. Warren Hastings asked me the same question the other day, Desmond.  You can’t both have her, you know.  What does Phyllis say?”

“I—­I haven’t asked her, sir.”

“Quite right.  You’re only a boy.  Well, Hastings is to remain as assistant to Mr. Scrafton, our new agent at Murshidabad.  You remain as assistant—­or is it rival, eh—­to Mr. Clive.  You’re both out of the way.  Phyllis may prefer Bulger.”

“Bulger?”

“Yes.  Didn’t you know?  Phyllis has taken a fancy to him; that hook of his appears to be a most fascinating feature; and he will accompany us home.”

Desmond laughed a little awkwardly.

“I hope—­” he began.

“He won’t hook her?  But there, I mustn’t make sport of such a serious matter.  Go on as you have begun, my dear lad, and I promise you, when you come home, that if Phyllis hasn’t found someone already to her liking, you shall have all the influence I can exert with the minx.”