The Hooley, the most revolting of all Hindoo Festivals, draws together an immense concourse of people.  Large fires are made on the sides of the public streets and liquid dye stuffs, with every description of filth is thrown by the Hindoos on each other, and should any unfortunate Hindoo woman show herself in the street on these occasions, she is assaulted with language of the most obscene and disgusting nature.  These festivals have of late years been curtailed by the Government, and now seldom last more than two days—­that is, in large cities containing European communities—­but in native towns it is still of many days duration.

Accounts of these and other native ceremonies, together with the horrors of the black hole, experienced by Europeans, nearly one hundred years since at the suggestion of the native princes, had been related to Edith by her Moonshee Ayah, but their dominion, or power for good or evil, has now passed away, and Calcutta of the present day is one of the pleasantest and finest cities to the European to be found throughout our Indian possessions.

And were it not for the great change in her position, from absolute affluence to becoming the recipient of another’s bounty, Edith would have been, if not quite happy, at least contented.  Yet it must not be imagined that she was ungrateful or the less thankful to her kind protectors, the Bartons, for she could now well realize what might have been her situation had she been compelled to act upon the plan that had first suggested itself to her on leaving Vellenaux—­that of becoming a governess or companion to some antiquated Dowager in Europe.

The repeated assurances from Mrs. Barton that she would, at no distant period, secure a brilliant alliance, fell coldly on her ear, but she made no ostentative demonstration of her own ideas on the subject, but with a gentle and quiet dignity, repelled the advances of certain aspirants for her hand, who were continually to be found in her train whenever she appeared abroad.  She had a smile for all and a fascinating and bewitching manner which was equally bestowed among her would-be admirers.  But beyond this all was calm and cold.  Her heart had imperceptibly slipped from her, and was now in the care of another, nor would she wish it were otherwise.  The future was before her and she was willing to wait.

Let it not be imagined that Arthur Carlton was a lukewarm lover, coldly prudential, or thinking it would be time enough to marry when he should have obtained his Captaincy, and careless as to what trying position Edith might be placed in, surrounded, as he knew her to be, by those who would willingly wed her at any moment.  Far from it.  He loved her too well to ask her to share at present the inconveniences incident to a camp life, as experienced by the wives of subalterns, not that he doubted she would yield up without a single regret the gay society and splendid establishment of Mrs. Barton, and contentedly share with him his home, be it ever so humble.  But the thought of her having to make any such sacrifice was to him one that could not be entertained for a moment.  He believed he knew her sufficiently well to trust implicitly in her constancy, and await the happy time when he could in all honour formally propose for her hand.